Where The Sun Never Shines
by sickbed00
Summary: AU. The year is 1936. Jonathan Crane, an embittered old professor obsessed with fear is slowly losing his grip on reality. Only his valet, Jervis Techt seems to care. Edward Nygma, a smooth talking trick is just trying to live the life he wants while keeping one step ahead of his best (and worst) client Harvey Dent. Of course they have to cross paths. Jon/Eddie. Multiple chapters.
1. Over The Rainbow

The weight of darkness is magnificent. It pushes through the skin yet still leaves the bones and organs intact. Stabbing sensations in the chest can be felt but the heart suffers little. Blood becomes slightly constricted but this is hardly ever noticed. The only aspect truly affected is an intangible one: The soul. The self. The Id and the Ego. Jonathan Crane had no name for this invisible thing. As an atheist he could acknowledge no soul and as a psychiatrist he found these monosyllabic those words a bit insulting to what they were meant to represent. All that aside, there was something silly about placing labels on objects that existed only within dreams. Even the darkness itself was not true darkness. Shadows could not be seen within it. Light could not dispel it. But it was not true darkness. Jonathan only lent it this name because he respected the crushing mass. Respected it, loved it and desired greatly to be its master.

He recognized his own hands; lily white and frail. They were the hands of an old professor. Hands that spent their days pawing through textbooks and wearing down chalk on a board. Now they were his only weapon in mastering the darkness. Jonathan began to move his arms in great sweeping motions, perhaps he could swim through. Swim to the Id and Ego of darkness and strangle it there as it was attempting to do with him.

Darkness though wanted none of this and quickly put an end to the game. Jonathan looked upon his hand growing smaller and blistered. Their color began to glow bronze. Jonathan could feel an emanating heat from his hands and on his bare chest. The hand became crippled, curling into itself. He could feel his palms become raw, blood running freely and filling the trembling ball of flesh that was once a hand.

Pain spread through him like wildfire, hot as the sun...hot as the sun...

Pure orange exploded through the darkness. In an instant warmth could be felt and Jonathan shivered, now realizing how truly cold darkness was.

From memories long since buried a voice called out his name. A woman's voice shook him and Jonathan told himself it was all just a trick. The pain grew more intense. Just a trick, the darkness is trying to confuse him. The woman's voice became louder, each time she called him Jonathan was shaken with a hot pulse. Blood flowed now from his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Jonathan screamed but nothing could be heard over the detached calling of his name.

Darkness had won.

It began as a dot, a black speck in the heart of blinding orange, coming at Jonathan so fast he could not make sense of the sight until it consumed him. Soft and cool, a great mass of feathers billowed past, growing louder and louder with each wave. The woman's voice was long gone now, receded back in memories. Just the feathers growing louder till a great screeching caw rip through it all.

Crows. Millions of crows, their claws cutting and tearing at Jonathan's naked self. He tried to fight them off but his hands had bled down to nubs. They pulled at his flesh, Jonathan could feel his skin being undone, as if he were a rag doll in the hands of a careless child. Soon his meaty organs were exposed but the crows did not stop. They made meals of his heart and stomach, liver and kidneys.

"Jonathan! Jonathan, for God's sake, wake up!"

There is no Jonathan. The crows have made sure of that.

"Dammit, open your eyes!"

Oblong masses found detail and in turn his mind was illuminated with the names of varying objects. There are shelves. They are lined with books. In the books are words. Jonathan notes a desk with a lamp to work by. Brown leather chairs well worn and loved sit by a small mass of embers. A fire place. The window sill outside was piled with quickly melting snow. It is February. Soon a warm sense of safety fills Jonathan as he recognizes the last little details, the trinkets and treasures that mark this room as his own.

He was home, in his bed.

"Where are you?"

"Home. In bed." Jonathan lolled his head about till he found himself locked with a pair of near colorless eyes perched over the most unfortunate overbite. "What is your address?"

"1488 West...West Abernathy."

"Apartment numb-"

"Apartment number one...Gotham City..."

"Good enough," the pale eyes closed, the misshapen mouth begrudgingly formed a smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Professor."

"Thank you, er...," a mug of dark, warm liquid was pushed into his hands. Jonathan recognized the strong bittersweet scent immediately as black tea. His hands though were a bit unsure, no matter how much his mind urged them to his fingers refused to make a proper grip. This man...

"It's Jervis, Professor," this Jervis though seemed keen on helping him, guiding the mug to Jonathan's lips and keeping it steady so he may have a drink. It was hot but Jonathan drank the tea up greedily. "Do you remember me?"

"Of course," Jonathan half lied. The name sent off sirens in his head, why for? Perhaps a bit more tea would help.

"Jervis Techt," Jervis seemed to have the same idea as once more he aided Jonathan is raising the mug, "I am your valet. I live here with you in this apartment."

"1488 West Abernathy Lane," the response was completely Pavlovian. Jonathan did not seem at all aware that he had spoken a word. Just went back to sipping delicately at his tea, eyes lidded and still terribly adrift. Jervis just kept at his side, holding the mug steady as Jonathan's fingers curled and uncurled themselves around it, never gaining much of a grip. He watched those distant, woebegone eyes, waiting for the far between moment when a soft sparkle would come over them and a new memory was illuminated. Perhaps something from his well guarded youth, perhaps something from the years they had shared as colleagues at the university. It could too just have been as simple as when a fledgling got itself trapped in the butler's pantry last week and nearly scared the professor to death with its ruckus.

Jervis felt the mug slip from his hand. Jonathan's own had finally remembered how to function and though he still looked so much like a lost child Jervis felt it safe enough to leave his master's side and do anyway with any evidence from the night before...

The syringe and empty vial were not really suspect. Such things were common paraphernalia in a doctor's home or office, as innocent as a stethoscope or jar full of tongue depressors. Jervis though knew the secret these fragile items concealed. The story they told of a man consumed by nightmares. Obsessed with fear. His few tethers to the world outside were his valet and a teaching job that he was neglecting more and more with each passing semester. Jervis knew that soon it would only be him and as he placed the vial and syringe back into the hollowed out pages of a short story anthology he wondered then how much longer till Jonathan would be lost for good.

Jervis closed the book, ran his fingers over the embossed lettering of the author's name. Washington Irving, one of Jonathan's favorites. Or at least he had been once upon a time. Once upon a time the old professor had actually read fiction. Now that bit of his library had been sold off, even the rare, limited print copy of _Through The Looking Glass_ Jervis had purchased for him the first Christmas under his employ. Everything was text books now, fantasy and myth replaced with facts and records. All that remained was what Jervis held; a hollowed out old book. Something that once was and could never be again.

"I have a meeting today...board of directors. I have to get dressed," Jonathan was quite alert now, upright in bed and his blue eyes wide at this great revelation, but he still spoke as if he were trapped within his dreams. His words wandered lazily, almost without purpose from his lips. The professor's strange speech pattern was something unique though quite unintentionally crafted. Jonathan was a Georgian, born and bred and well aware of the negative stigma attached to it. After countless years, tutors and cash spent Jonathan managed to tighten the reigns on his sharp accent, but still a sweet sort of sleepiness lingered in his voice. An intriguing contrast to his quick temper and fiery red hair.

"Perhaps after breakfast and a little more tea. I'm sure the board would understand if-"

"No," Jonathan snapped as he began untangling himself from his bedding. Jervis was regrettably not in the mood to deal with the stubborn professor. It broke his heart to think he had become too hard or too old to care for Jonathan like he once had. Like he promised he always would. So often in his years at the university did Jervis's childlike naivety lead him astray, mostly with the girls. He never meant any harm but of course none of them understood that. Only the red headed loner from the psychology department would stand up for him, speaking so eloquently in his defense. In time the two square pegs formed a valuable friendship and when Jervis was terminated and forced without hope into streets, it was Jonathan who found him once more among the wretched and the forgotten. Who pulled him up, dusted him off and, despite his own misfortunes in the face of an uncertain economy, gave him a job as his valet.

Even at the most difficult times of The Depression Jonathan had managed to keep their pantry full. He could stretch a dollar into a week, bartering with anyone who would hear him out. Now, Jervis had not even prepared a breakfast for his master. He was not even going to try for one last push for the haggard man before him to take a bite of a muffin or spoonful of oatmeal. Then again in the times when Jervis would slave over the most appetizing meal he could manage with what he was given Jonathan would always turn it away.

"Do I look as if I need to consume?" Jonathan would sometimes ask with great venom. Jervis knew Jonathan was sensitive about his frail frame. When and if something was made and Jonathan felt insulted that it was Jervis would quickly shuffle it outside to the patio for any lucky transient who might happen upon it. So instead of making a scene he took to sifting through Jonathan's suits to find something that did not make him look like the cantankerous old recluse that he was. If anything, Jonathan's fine collection of hats, designed to conceal both his hated natural hair color and the few grays that had begun to tint it would put him back in good spirits.

"When convenient I believe we ought to make a venture to the 12th Street arcade. You are in a rather dire need for a few new jackets and ties. Maybe some new loafers as well." Jervis very well knew though that Jonathan was not listening. Behind him he could hear Jonathan lumbering about with his peculiar gait. Long legs and old age had given him a unique footfall. Papers could be heard being tossing about, file cabinets slamming both open and shut. "I think a little less brown might be good. And a few less patches too," Jervis tsked as he pulled out a musty tweed jacket with thinning leather elbow patches, "walking around dressed like this," then, with a chuckle, "...you look like a damn scarecrow."

This comment caught Jonathan's eyes in the cruelest way. -

Only a moment ago he had awoken in agony. A crown of knots around his skull being pulled tighter and tighter with each beat of his heart. The rotted sack of bile and vodka that served as his stomach was a raging sea of misery and there seemed to be the most ear shattering ring all around him that none of the strange shadow-people in his vision seemed to notice.

Only a moment ago Edward Nygma had the hangover from hell. Now he was drowning in icy pleasure. Each cold wave that washed over took with it a layer of ache and nausea, healing Edward inside and out. Only when his lungs were ready to burst could Edward bear to pull himself from beneath the showers, heaving shamelessly in the budding morning light. Wet and shivering, Edward felt renewed. He opened his eyes, desiring so much to see this glorious shower from heaven above that had saved his life.

Edward found himself standing in the central fountain of Gotham University.

The mystic shadow people were now taking shape as confused and frightened students heading to the day's first classes.

Though a proud young man Edward could not help but to enjoy a hearty laugh at his situation. Since sixteen he had assured anyone who would listen that nothing on heaven or earth would get him to enter the prestigious Gotham U. Apparently the combination of good wine and cheap vodka had not been fully considered.

"Me oh my," a fey creature leapt into the collecting pool to Edward's left, causing him to foolishly try and protect himself from the splash, "would you look at the boychick? Soaked to the bone, the poor baby." The scolding tsk that followed slowly tapped awake a groggy part of Edward's brain.

"Echo," his voice can a bit more roughly then he would have liked, especially after inhaling an unsafe amount of city water, "or perhaps an angel come with a reprieve for my pitiable situation?" To this Echo only offered her signature laugh whose familiarity Edward found himself just falling into. It was easier to live a life as a care free rake of a youth when you had some sort of constant in your life. And Echo was as constant and solid as they came.

"There you are!" Another detached voice, this one though as bright and loud as the speed it was coming at Edward. Before he could attempt a sweet coo of Query's name as he had done for Echo the girl had already thrown herself unceremoniously into the fountain, pawing excitedly at him like a child would a favorite toy they thought had gone missing.

Above the hullabaloo of the reunion Edward could hear Echo spit a few unpleasant words. They were a sight, Edward Nygma and his girls but they would not have had it any other way. Life was meant to be lived in front of an audience as far as the trio was concerned and on that fine February morning they had attracted quite an impressive one.

"Would ya look at all the egg heads?" Query cried. "The lot of ya would make one hell of an omelet!"

"Egg heads, eh?" Edward stepped forward, greeting the intrigued students with his wide, glistening smile, "Let's see how smart this batch is! How would you all like to take class with me, Professor Nygma, and learn the great riddles of the Sphinx? To decode the subtle play of words and unlock the third eye so they might see what was never intended to be shone?" The buzzing excitement around the group did not surprise Edward in the least, with their arms full of Algebra, trigonometry and psychology books how could they not want to spend their morning with his oh so charming, albeit terribly hung over, self?

"Start 'em off easy Eddie," Echo purred behind him.

"Indeed I shall," said Edward, "now, listen up!" The students all took a collective step forward. "A rooster sitting atop on a perfectly triangular roof lays an egg. Which direction does it roll and why?" For a moment the crowd was silent, a few of the trigonometry students began flipping through their books before a feminine voice perked up:

"Um, roosters don't lay eggs, sir."

"Correct!" Edward pointed to the girl while simultaneously tapping the tip of his nose. Laughter and applause drew more students to the scene.

"What's going on?"

"Who're those guys?"

Edward's charm drew encouragements.

"Oh, please tell another one!"

"Yeah, that first one was too tricky!"

"Patience now, patience, calm yourselves," there was little conviction in Edward's words, the last thing he wanted was for the crowd to lose any of their energy for his act or any of their love for him.

At this thought, Edward turned and began to scale the fountain. Echo and Query took their unspoken cue to whip the crowd into a frenzy, getting them to chant and cheer for their new professor. Once he reached the top Edward resumed his lesson and the students were completely hypnotized, helplessly caught under his spell.


	2. Pennies From Heaven

For a Tuesday morning Jonathan Crane felt the Gotham University campus to be a bit too lively. Most of his idiot students were usually still trying to stabilize themselves from their wayward weekends rummaging through their parents liquor cabinets. Ambling around the campus like hung over zombies. As pathetic as the sight was, Jonathan liked the quiet of the mornings earliest in the week. He certainly had not taken in enough of Jervis's potent black tea to be able to deal with the obnoxiously cheerful cacophony circling the central campus fountain.

With a disgusted sneer Jonathan realized that his most loathed of holidays had only passed just last week. Valentine's Day, outside of being flat out the most offensive idea for a holiday (If love was so worthy of entire day of dedication why not fear, hatred or malice?) was also the day that the central fountain was brought out of winter hibernation with a decent amount of fanfare. What made Jonathan grimace so was how many of the students used this mediocre little festival to make public proposals to their sweethearts. His students playing footsie during lecture was one thing, but the idea of those dullards marrying and, heaven forbid, procreating made Jonathan want to run screaming back to his apartment, never again to emerge.

Not to mention the weeks beforehand of hearing nothing but 'If So-and-so doesn't propose I swear I'll die a lonely old spinster!'

Jonathan figured the commotion must have been a late entry in the game. No doubt some flibertigibbit (most likely that hopeless flirt Dick Grayson from his Thursday afternoon class) forgot the date. Or the ring. Though most likely it was both.

Just the same, whatever unfortunate girl he somehow swooned would probably agree. Chances were she already had a dress picked out.

Jonathan decided it was best he just ignore the clamorous celebration and head on to the lecture hall. Such things had no need for lonely old spinsters like himself...

Noise is quite easy to ignore. The empty classroom on the other hand begged for Jonathan's attention. He waited a good twenty minutes past the start of his first class, rechecking the notes for his presentation and making sure all his facts were in order. The full forty page report was a marvel that wowed Jonathan more and more each time he read it. This was it, he told himself, the academic board would not deny him this time. He was only a few aggravating classes away from the research grant he had been so desperately working for. All the long nights using himself as a human guinea pig were finally about to pay off.

Thirty minutes passed.

"Damnation," Jonathan muttered to the empty space. He had experienced the arrogance of tardy students enough in the past but the empty lecture hall was an open love letter to anarchy and insubordination and Jonathan was not going to have any of it. Not today. His rage became blinders, as Jonathan tore across the campus all he could see was that damn fountain and the crowd before it. The numbers did not unnerve him in the least.

At the top of the fountain he could see some ridiculous looking clown swinging around with two women waving their arms wildly in the collecting pool.

The man's voice managed to rise above the frenzy it was eliciting.

"I will not lie my dears, this next riddle is quite a dozy. Only experienced players may attempt it!" From where Jonathan stood at the edge of the crowd he could see this pied piper dressed in a bottle green suit with the faintest herringbone pattern. He was clearly soaked from his bowler cap to, what surprised Jonathan greatly, his stark white spats. Even the aged professor knew that spats had long been out of style, sported only these days by eccentric socialite Oswald Cobblepot.

"Ready?" The queer man asked. The students cheered. "All right, listen closely; it cannot be seen, it cannot be felt. Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. Lies behind stars and under hills and empty holes it fills. Comes first follows after. Ends life and kills laughter. What is it?"

Jonathan had never had a mind for riddles, subtle word play even in day to day conversation irked him. As much as he valued Jervis as a friend and valet Jonathan would always feel himself tense in annoyance whenever the man would forget himself and begin to speak in a mash-up of understandable conversation and the whimsical turn-of-phrase that made sense only in the world within his mind. But this...this riddle. Jonathan knew the answer as well as his own reflection. It was something powerful, something so much so it must remain intangible for fear it may fall into unfit hands. Something otherworldly but as commonplace as an earthen road or the and predictable as the change of the seasons. Yes, Jonathan knew the answer to this riddle, there was not a shred of doubt within him.

"The answer to your riddle is 'darkness'."

All the students gasped at the sight of Professor Crane. Even the few who had not attended his classes were well aware of his reputation and quivered with fear under his long, cold shadow just as intensely as their more knowing peers.

Edward though simply stared, frozen, his expression unreadable even to his dear Echo and Query. In all his years, in all the many men he had charmed and loved he had never seen one such as this newcomer.

He was dressed as neatly as he could be in his ill fitted, ill mended suit made of layers of muted autumnal colors. A few bits of orange hair poked out from beneath the man's hat. When he cocked his head just right a few silver painted strands would shimmer briefly in the weak morning light then fall dully among the rest. The coloring in his skin was ghostly pale, not a touch of warmth in his lips or cheeks. Thin lines were drawn around all his features making both his age and his annoyance for the scene quite evident.

"Mercy Christmas , what is going on here?" The man did not seem all that interested in getting an answer from the students whose shared frivolity had fallen dead in his presence. His blue eyes never wavered from Edward's green.

"Congratulations on solving my most challenging riddle," Edward smiled, "truly you are an intellect worthy of my praise." He then tipped his bowler, Echo and Query did a pantomime with their own invisible caps.

"Who are you?" Jonathan simply spat back.

"I am the new professor here and-" but Edward was quickly cut off.

"I asked you a serious question and I expect a serious answer young man!" At this Edward felt his cheeks flush hot with humiliation, an uncomfortable contrast to the February chill. "I see you must be some sort of simpleton," Jonathan adjusted his glasses, "how you managed to find yourself within an institution of higher learning is beyond me. Never the less, I must insist you end this spectacle! Climb down immediately before you catch your death of cold and give me some explanation for your presence." All these harsh words came so quickly Edward knew not what to make of them. He was not deaf to the jealous bites his fellow working boys would take at him but at least there was an elegant wit, a sense of craft to their insults. This man was not interested in being clever, despite the fact he seemed intelligent enough to do so. He was going for the kill. "For heaven's sake speak boy! Less you lack the cognitive ability to do so."

"And who might you be, so curious about my business?" Edward's voice regrettably trembled.

"I am a professor of this university, so don't you dare begin questioning the legitimacy of my curiosity." The crowd had quickly dissipated and Jonathan was able to charge right up to the foot of the fountain. Edward knew he could not let this man on to his unease and quickly leapt down, back into the collecting pool. Now level with the professor Edward was made aware of his staggering height. He was a red headed giant, towering above Edward with at least five solid inches.

"Well, aren't you something…" Edward heard himself whisper.

"Speak up! I will not stand for any sort of mumbling gibberish in my presence."

"Of course you won't," Edward laughed, holding out his hand for a shake, "let me start again. The name's Nygma, Edward Nygma,"Jonathan looked at the hand with an expression that could only be interpreted is disgust. "Problem, professor?"

"You honestly want me to believe your name is E. Nygma? Enigma?" Edward's eyes went wide. Again the strange man had managed to impress him, few people realized the dumb luck his drunk of a father and illiterate mother had come across in naming him. "Do you think me a fool?"

"Hey now, teach" Edward felt Echo's hand snake around his shoulder, "show some respect here. This is Edward Nygama, the prince of puzzles." Though Jonathan's fervor did not waver Edward felt himself become calm knowing his girls were at his side.

"Professor or not, you got some nerve talkin' to our Eddie-love like that!" Query added with a disapproving harrumph. Yes, Edward was feeling much more like himself now.

"Me and my kittens here were thinking about enrolling here at the prestigious Gotham U," he said with a dramatic sigh, "but I have to say thus far we have not been impressed. I have also heard terrible rumors, lots of issues with local riff raff getting in and stirring up trouble. Lots of complaints about the teachers as well." Edward stepped forward, "Bunch of old, ugly, hooked nosed, beady eyed crumb bums. That's what I hear." The professor gritted his teeth.

"You have wasted enough of my time and I will not let you have a second more!" Jonathan could hear his voice beginning to betray his well maintained stoicism. His great grandmother, who had begrudgingly accepted the job of his rearing, had instilled in him the antebellum sensibilities of her own upbringing in rural Georgia. Displaying any sort of emotion was frowned upon, especially unpleasant ones such as anger. Jonathan had been actively disciplined in these principals but there was an underlying bed of rage within him that no amount of training could help. Much like his accent it was something innate. Jonathan could do all he could to mask it but subtle cracks were making him into a creature more frightening then if he had let his emotions take control.

It was not their professor's obvious frustration and anger towards them that his students feared but it's obviousness presence beneath his stoic facade. To see him tremble with the restraint of his frustration, never knowing when he would explode and what the consequence that would be.

"I must go," Jonathan said once he felt composed, "I actually have classes to tend to and lessons to give. But rest assured I will alert the campus officers of your presence. It is in your best interest Mr. Nygma, or whatever your name is," he narrowed his eyes, "that you leave immediately without the intention to return."

"Way ahead of you teach," Echo hissed, "come on Eddie-kins, let's split this scene."

"Yeah, I'm gettin' sick o' these eggheads, baby." Edward gave the man before him one last look over.

"All right," he said quietly, "nice meetin' ya teach."

"Do not call me that," Jonathan knew it was of no consequence now as he had clearly made his point and this so-called Edward Nygma and his entourage seemed to be on their way out, "I am Professor Jonathan Crane. I suggest you remember that in the event misfortune on both our parts leads you here again." Though his smile did not waver all the color in Edward's cheeks drained. With a curt nod to the professor he simply turned to leave and Jonathan thought to himself how lovely it would be to keep that boy for his experiments.

For whatever reason, even the slightest trace of fear on his young face _excited _Jonathan in a way he had not felt in years.

"What a crab," Query said once the trio passed through the front gates of the university, "and an ugly one to boot! Who does that guy think he is?"

"I believe he thinks himself a professor," replied Echo, "one who clearly did not get his morning coffee. We ought to do something about that man, Eddie."

"Way ahead of you Echo," Edward turned to the girl and winked, "way ahead of you."

As much as Jonathan adored the art and science of psychology his students managed to put going through the works of Freud and Jung and Wertheimer on par with having one's fingernails individually removed. Jonathan could not decide what was worse; listening to them moan and yawn and shift nosily in their seats or having one of the dolts gain the initiative to raise their hand and ask the most mind numbingly idiotic question they could muster.

The last bell in Jonathan's long day finally came at four o'clock and he was free from his obligations until the next morning. In half an hour his meeting with the board would begin and-

"Jonathan Crane?" A squeaky voice asked from the entry of the lecture hall, "I have a delivery here for a Professor Jonathan Crane." Jonathan looked up to see some unfortunate youth in a baby blue uniform and cap holding, to his deepest horror, a monstrous bouquet of white roses and doubly large one of balloons.

With an oversized white teddy bear to match.

Jonathan could not look away from the creature's soulless black eyes as the delivery boy approached his desk.

"Professor Crane?" Jonathan numbly nodded. Why did he do that? "Here you are sir! A very special delivery just for you!" Jonathan felt helpless as the boy in blue shoved the balloons into his hand, felt no words of protest forming as he staged the flowers and bear on his desk. "And now," just when Jonathan thought it could not become more surreal the boy pulled out a harmonica from his front pocket at blew a shrill note through it.

"Please don't," Jonathan said a second too late.

_"Happy, happy birthday!_

_ What a special day for you!_

_ Happy, happy birthday!_

_ And seventy-five more plus two!"_

"Mercy Chris-wait, did you just say seventy-five?"

"Jonathan?" Despite himself, Jonathan looked to see who else was coming to ruin his afternoon. A mix of relief and embarrassment hit when he saw his old mentor Professor Pigeon standing where the delivery boy had been, bewilderment painted on his face as he looked upon his protégé with a handful of balloons in one hand and a bear on his desk. "I didn't realize it was your birthday."

"My birthday is in August," Jonathan growled at the delivery boy, "come back in six months if you enjoy a good dare!" The delivery boy just held out his hand. "And if you think I'm going to tip you for dragging this mess into my life you certainly have another thing coming!"

"Crumb bum!" The delivery boy stormed off. Jonathan only had a second to realize that was the second time that particular insult had been used on him that day before Pigeon approached his desk.

"Are you all right Jonathan?" He asked with all the sincerity in the world, "It's been ages since I've come to see you, I wasn't quite expecting this."

"Neither was I," Jonathan said darkly. "It does my heart good to see you here though, Pigeon." He smiled to his mentor. The only time in the last four years the two had spoken was during the abysmal board meetings. Their close bond reduced to nothing more than Jonathan begging for validation as Pigeon had to shake his head and hand down the verdict of the board that Jonathan would not be getting his grant.

"Jonathan, I wish I could say I have come with some good news for your meeting but I fear it's not the case."

"Damnation, don't tell me they cancelled it."

"No," said Pigeon, "the truth is after four years of solicitation the board has decided that if you cannot offer enough of a reason, enough evidence to prove that this obsession of yours with phobias is worthy of a grant," he exhaled hard through his nostrils, "Jonathan, this is the last time they will meet with you." To Pigeon's shock Jonathan had a smile for this.

"Dear Pigeon, I already planned for this to be my last meeting with them."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Jonathan stood, tying the balloon bouquet to the back of his chair, "if this proposal is not accepted then I will just hang up my psychology hat all together!" He reached into his desk and pulled out a letter opener. "My records and notes are all sound," a loud snap filled the great lecture hall has Jonathan popped one of the balloons, "every theorized chemical concoction has been carefully detailed with full outlines of what I expect from them." Another snap. "Every crack the board has found in my foundation has been filled, Pigeon. I simply cannot fail." Snap, snap, snap!

"I, uh," Pigeon felt himself falter at the sight of Jonathan's manic smile, "very good then, I suppose." Snap.

"I'll be presenting past notes of course, just in case the board wants to re-review them. But this folder here," Jonathan motioned to an empty spot on the desk, "is gone…"

"Gone?" Pigeon watched as Jonathan began throwing papers about, the frightful glee on his face now fully replaced with panic.

"There was a brown folder here! It had all my new notes in it! Did you not see it?" _Crumb bum! _The words hit Jonathan like a ton of bricks. No, it couldn't be…

Jonathan flipped open the card on the bouquet of roses. There was nothing on it but a question mark.

Pigeon was saying something but Jonathan could not hear a word. He was too busy rushing to the lecture room door, hoping to catch the false delivery boy before it was too late.

"It's locked!" But the delivery boy was far more crafty then Jonathan gave him credit for.

"What do you mean it's locked?" Pigeon cried, "The meeting is in fifteen minutes!"

"Look on the desk," Jonathan commanded, "next to the pencil sharpener, there ought to be a key!" Pigeon began to poke around the desk.

"Jonathan, I don't see either," he said with some worry, "what is going on here? Who was that delivery boy?" Jonathan gave the door one last solid smack before falling to the floor. The cold reality of the world had stolen his strength. It was over, all over. The only clear thought that could be managed through the tangle of anger, despair and depression overwhelming him was Edward Nygma had bested him. A sopping wet trollop spewing riddles in the campus fountain had bested him.

"A pencil sharpener? Dammit Joe, what am I supposed to do with this?" Edward slammed the worn pencil sharper down on the bistro table where he, Echo and Query were clustered with coffee drinks and pastries.

"Hey, I did what you asked," said Joe, standing beside them in his blue uniform, "you said go in, embarrass the old coot and grab one or two things on your way out."

"Didn't he have anything of value?" Edward asked, "A wallet, some jeweled little trinket?"

"Something readable?" Asked Echo, browsing through a thick, brown folder. "I'm not even sure if any of this is in English. Maybe this professor joker is some German spy or something."

"He had a key, which I used to lock him in his own classroom, how's that?" Edward smiled but still seemed displeased.

"I suppose that'll do, Joe. Thanks for your help." Joe put out his hand as he had for Jonathan.

"That crumb bum didn't tip me."

"Of course he didn't," Edward reached into his pocket and deposited a fistful on pennies into Joe's open grasp. "For your troubles, my good man." Joe's face lit up like Christmas.

"Ah, thanks Eddie!" He cried. "Anytime, I mean anytime you need anything you just ask ol' Joe Coyne!"

"Of course, of course," Edward waved the boy away. He then turned to the sad haul once more. A pencil sharpener, a few pencils and the folder of German spy code.

"You made your point," Query said passively, "it'll be a long time before the ginger egg head messes with ya again."

"Can't believe Joe locked him in his classroom," Echo chuckled to herself, "wish I could have seen the look on his face."

"The most damage that probably did was make the lovely professor late to his train," Edward sighed. "By tonight I'm sure I'll be forgotten." There was an honest bit of hurt in Edward's voice that both Echo and Query were sure they had never heard before.


	3. Night And Day

By the time Jonathan and Pigeon had managed to break down the lecture room door they found themselves too late to appeal the board members into one last chance for Jonathan's one last chance. There was no attempt on the board's part to be kind about the situation, in fact they seemed to relish in the pain their refusal inflicted upon Jonathan. They made it clear that the subject of his obsession was questionable at best and after his tardiness and evidence of ill preparation they told him in no uncertain terms that he would never be rewarded a grant in the name of phobias.

Pigeon offered to take Jonathan to a local bar to drown his sorrows but Jonathan declined. He had already missed his first train home of the night and he dare not become so intoxicated he miss the second.

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Edward managed to steal away a few needed hours alone in his private suite to fully prepare himself for an evening of work at The Joker's Wild. Being the most popular rent boy in Gotham was not as easy as he made it look.

The Joker's Wild was one of the two gentleman's clubs that were still functioning within Gotham City, the other being the prestigious Iceberg Club. As their names suggested the two exclusive locales could not be any more different, each with their own unique clientele and reputation.

The Iceberg Club was the oldest establishment of its kind on the east coast. A shamelessly grandiose palace that spared no expense in giving Gotham's most upscale citizens what they felt they deserved. They always were dressed the nines in top hats and tails, properly accessorized with monocles and staffs and a few tasteful dashes of color in the stitching of their breast coats. The citizens of Gotham felt the club was aptly named each time they saw the mass of white breast, black coated gentlemen slowly making their way into its yawning front gate.

Conversely, Joker's Wild catered to the young hedonist that managed to keep a hold of their family fortunes or, like Edward, build their own within the guarded walls. It was a savage place made of peacock and pearls. Large panels of silk were layered over every window, inspiring the idea of an endless night. Never though was a moment wasted on sleep. Even the youths that lay spent, draped over the heavy furniture had only fallen under a giddy spell, overwhelmed with jazz and drink and dance.

Edward had a permanent place on the Joker's Wild V.I.P. list. He had free reign over the club and its patrons and servants happily indulged him. Even if Edward was not riding on the endless tab of one of the most infamous men in Gotham they all would still bend over backwards just for his company alone. He was a silver tongued charmer. Whatever he wanted Edward could get. This did of course churn up feelings of jealousy among his fellow working boys, especially those who had been in the business twice as long. But they could never behave poorly around him. Like the most intoxicating drug everyone adored Edward in his presence but once away from his charms did they sober up and remember what a scheming little snake he was.

Edward smiled at his own reflection in the mirror he was preening in.

"You're _adorable_!" And he laughed.

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Jervis did not question the large teddy bear Jonathan had dragged home with him (or why it's eyes were torn out). He did however find a nice vase for the roses and placed them near a window.

Upon his fainting couch Jonathan collapsed, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around himself until his was nothing more than a tight, tiny ball of defeat. For a moment Jervis looked mournfully upon his friend. There was no point in asking how the meeting went, there never was. After each great defeat Jervis would always have a cup of chilled sweet tea ready for Jonathan when he came home in hopes of cooling his hot head. The night would then spin off into a dizzying mess of sugar fueled ranting and ravings about the closed minded nature of those 'empty-headed, bureaucratic ninnies'. Jervis had no idea what a ninny was supposed to be, but he agreed with Jonathan none the less, dutifully following as the long legged professor paced the apartment till his stomach began to ache from on too many sweet drinks and he retired moaning to his bed.

.

It actually terrified Jervis more to see Jonathan in such a lifeless state then clamoring around his apartment and threatening the heads of the director's board. Jonathan had always been the strong one of the pair. For a man that had been dismissed as nothing more than a bookworm all his life Jonathan possessed an incredible spirit. Docile Jervis was all day dreams and whimsy, his years at the university had been spent dabbling in his frivolous theories that he never seriously perused. Jonathan poured every ounce of himself into his endeavors and made no apologies for it. If the women found him boring, so be it. If his colleagues thought him mad, well, he never had much of an opinion of them either.

Such differences reach as far back as their childhoods. A time where Jervis wished to remain and one Jonathan had never knew. Jonathan had been born impassioned, he never would have survived life toiling under the Georgia sun otherwise. Never would have clawed himself inch by inch out of his abhorred hometown and kept his head high at the strange stares and whispers that followed him all through his years of academia.

Jervis knew this, it was what he admired most about his friend. To see Jonathan lie so broken on the fainting couch was almost like looking upon a stranger in his home. Jervis had no idea what was expected of him in such a situation as neither he nor Jonathan would have ever believed that the university could whittle him down to such a state. So, he did what he always did when the real world stopped making sense and entered the logic of the one in his mind...and decided to make a pot of tea.

As he had done just that morning, Jervis pushed a fresh cup of dark liquid under Jonathan's nose, a lopsided yet hopeful smile stretch across his face.

"Valerian," he cooed, "come on now, it's your favorite. Help you sleep..." Sleep? Jonathan did not wish to sleep. He did not wish to linger in wake. Nothing in the world seemed appetizing in that moment. Even death seemed like a lackluster release. Hopelessness had followed Jonathan more closely than his shadow all the days of his life, yet somehow he had always managed to stay a step ahead. Defeat had never been an option, but now all Jonathan wanted was to curl up into the deep caverns of failure, so far that no one may find him again.

Closing his weary eyes he could see those of young Edward gleaming at him through the darkness. Silently Jonathan wished a curse upon those eyes and that damn cocky smile. He knew enough, the Georgia backwoods was home to all sorts of superstition. Curses from the old soldiers who spat blindly at the ghost of Yankees they had killed. Curses from the pious church folk upon Atlanta, Savannah and Macon; the assured temples of the devil himself.

"Jonathan?" Jonathan blinked wearily at his name. "Please, before it gets cold." Of course Jervis could not understand, thought Jonathan as he uncurled himself to accept the tea. His grey eyes see things no more clearly then one of my addled brained students! Jonathan remembered how much more devastated Jervis had been at the loss of his object of affection as opposed to how his passion for the loathsome girl had been the reason for his termination. If his flighty mind could not understand the seriousness of being excused from five years of service to a university how could he understand the magnitude of watching one's scientific life work being destroyed by the prank of a spiteful child?

Still, Jonathan could not deny that he found much comfort in knowing someone like Jervis was so dedicated to him. For all the misery and annoyance that the man's sweet naiveté brought upon him he managed to soften the harder edges in life. Edges Jonathan had found himself far too accustomed to.

"You are better then I deserve." Jonathan finally said after many long sips of tea.

"The feeling is mutual."

When the cup was empty, Jervis took leave to the kitchen and returned with one of his many decorative pots to refill it once more. Jonathan's defenses had been broken in half with the strength of the first cup, Jervis could see a milky glaze consume the professor's eyes. He figured it was now or never if he wanted to shake loose any information about the dreaded afternoon.

"If I may, Professor, did anything unusual occur during your meeting with the board?"

"The board?" Jonathan repeated as if he had never heard the word. "No...no, that was not it." Jervis found himself puzzled when nothing more was added but reminded himself of the speedy affect valerian had on Jonathan and sat in hope that Jonathan's drowsy mind would manage to relate something more. After what felt like an eternity Jonathan set aside his empty cup and with pupils as wide and deep as caverns looked straight at Jervis and uttered:

"Edward Nygma." Jervis considered the name. He considered it for a very long time but could not link it to any face or memory.

"I beg your pardon?" He cautiously asked.

"Do not make me say it again, I haven't the strength."

. Jervis stayed with Jonathan through the evening. Those who knew the old professor would have awed as a crowd would for a tamer and his lion at Jervs's ability to reach out at gently soothe Jonathan's red hairs without a word of protest. Been dumbstruck as they saw Jonathan learn into the warm palm petting his cheek, wanting so much to be comforted then by his old friend. Despite his unruly imagination Jervis was a simple man. He wanted above all things merely a place to belong. Somewhere safe, quiet. He was not at all particular on how it was he would find such a place. If the only happiness for him in the world was there in that little apartment, cradling the weight of his broken friend, listening to his breath become calm in sleep...then so be it.

It always amazed Jervis how little Jonathan weighed. Though nothing more than a creature made of awkward arms and legs it still seemed impossible that it took the aging Jervis little more effort to then it did to move a modest grocery box to collect the professor into his arms. The only challenge in carrying Jonathan to his room was trying to navigate his angular form down the tight, dark halls. He managed though with much success and what little harm he had caused jostled no sounds of distress from Jonathan.

Jervis was not oblivious to how bizarre the relationship he shared with his friend and employer was. How unseemly the sight of two middle-aged men showing such affection for one another. But of course, thought Jervis as he laid the professor onto his bed, no one had ever really understood them.

"Sweet dreams, Jonathan," whispered Jervis. Though he knew such things would never come.

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Edward sat reclining in the middle of his king size bed, sinking deeply into the mountain of pillows piled up behind him. His suite was the zenith of modern technology and style, complete with a top of the line radio-phonograph and all the hit records of the day but not even his new Cole Porter held any interest to him. Instead his busy mind was focused on the small, shabby treasure he was turning over in his hands.

A pencil sharpener, the words 'J. Crane' written on its side. It was a jerky, hand crank style sharpener which did not surprise Edward in the least. Of course Professor Crane would have nothing to do with those fancy electric one's he had seen recently advertised in the papers. Even if he bought him one Edward knew the man would reject it. He could almost hear Jonathan's voice in his head, berating him for even thinking he could want such a thing. Calling Edward a child, a brat and a fool.

Edward very much wanted to buy Jonathan a new pencil sharpener.

The grandmother clock in the corner of his room struck nine. Soon his escort would arrive to whisk him away to the glittering halls of the Joker's Wild. Edward sighed and tucked the sharpener into the back of his nightstand drawer. It had been almost three months since Harvey insisted they return to his suite for an evening but still he wanted to sure that the new item with another man's name on it was safely hidden. It seemed so silly for Harvey to be so possessive of Edward seeing as how he was fully aware of his occupation, but he regretfully was and Edward was not at all excited over the possibly of a drunken, heated argument in his future so he squirreled the sharpener away. Deep, deep in the back of the drawer, where only he would know where to find it.

A soft knock tapped on his door and Edward checked himself one last time in his mirror before snatching up his suit jacket. It was a gorgeous thing that would do nothing to protect him from the cold, winter night but Edward had never made an argument for practicality. Practical boys never got far in his line of work.

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Jonathan woke to the grandfather clock in his room chiming two. He was not disoriented, his mouth was not dry. Between his legs though Jonathan could feel a cold, wet mess that made his cheeks burn with humiliation. Forty odd years old and he was still afflicted by a disorder reserved for preteens. From a medical perspective, his nocturnal emissions were perfectly understandable. Jonathan did not engage in intercourse, he never had and had no plans to begin. The notion of masturbation was illogical in his mind, erections were swollen and sensitive which were symptoms concurrent with an infection. It needed to be left alone and treated with ointments.

There was not much dignity in having to sneak around your own room in an attempt to clean a mess your body had made without your consent but for once Jonathan did not care. Even as he did his best to properly hide his soiled bottoms while dressing in a new pair all he could think about was Edward. Edward, a devious, hateful creature, wicked enough to make Jonathan rethink his stance on the non-existence of the devil. Edward, who had crushed all his dreams with something he regarded as no more than a silly joke, one he was now doubt bragging about with his iniquitous cohorts over bottles of hard liquor.

Jonathan crawled back into his bed, the space between the heavy blankets made cold from his absence. The discomfort weighed very little on his mind though as Jonathan decided to refocus his thoughts of Edward as something more pleasing then distressful. To remember in great detail the subtle tells of fear in the boy's face when Jonathan confronted him, scolded him. Was that what Edward feared most? To be called out on his foolishness? To be pointed at and mocked and made an example? Jonathan tried to imagine the handsome young man in tears, sobbing on his knees begging for Jonathan to stop tormenting him with his words.

Before Jonathan knew it he was fast asleep once more, a smile creasing his face. He did not remember what he dreamed though come morning desperately wished he had as for the first time in all his life Jonathan found his body had decided to betray him twice in one night.


	4. The Object Of My Affection

Noticed that some people have decided to follow and review. Thank you for your interest, this story has been a long pain in the ass to put together. I hope you continue to enjoy it as I continue to post.

A full week had passed since the incident at the university. Gossip of what transpired had finally died down, shifting toward an unfounded pregnancy scandal and Jonathan could not have been happier for it. He had grown very tired of his braver students questioning him about the true identity and possible whereabouts of the beloved new Professor Nygma. One more mention of the boy's name and Jonathan was certain he was going to find himself in his own padded cell in Arkham.

As for the 'professor' himself, Edward had created a new edition to his night time ritual. In the sliver of time after his primping and preening but just before the Rolls Royce arrived Edward would climb into his big bed, the pencil sharpener in hand, and just meditate on Jonathan, going over each and every details of their encounter. Edward also spent much time thinking about Jonathan's somewhat unnatural way of speaking, having noted a curious inflection well buried beneath the anger. The professor was hiding something; an accent or perhaps a lisp. Edward even entertained the idea that English was not the man's first language.

After a week of obsessing Edward had to face the truth and that night at the Joker's Wild he shared with Echo and Query about the feelings he assumed he was having.

"I'm in love," he told them flatly after gulping down his third double vodka martini, "and yes my kittens it's as wonder as all the songs of the subject said they would be."

"Love?" Asked Query, "Who are you in love, I mean, you're not…"

"I swear, Edward Nygma, if you say what I think you're about to say," Echo bit her lip as her voice began to rise, drawing some attention from some of the club's other patrons. Edward though seemed indifferent to the distress he was causing his girls.

"Yes, there is something about him. My interest has been fully piqued," he carried on, idly spinning the empty martini glass in his hand. "Most men I can read like a book. This professor though, I must say he's really thrown me for a loop. I'm afraid I must set everything aside and put at my focus into cracking his code."

So, it was not love, just a perverse fascination.

"Wait, are you talking about that Cane character from the school?" Echo asked.

"It's Crane, not Cane," Edward corrected, "like a tall, thin, pure white crane gracefully spreading its wings to take flight across the wetlands." He let out a dreamy sigh, "I think I need another drink."

"God Eddie, for a second there I thought you were gonna say," Query tensed, looking about as if her words were about to bring a curse upon them, "you'd finally given into Harvey. Oh!" She shivered. "Just thinking about him gives me gooseskin!" Edward laughed and drew the girl in for a brotherly kiss on her forehead.

"You know how I feel about Harvey's proposals," said Edward, "they are insulting at best."

"It would be better if you just severed all ties with him," Echo muttered darkly, "the way he hounds you, it's so vile."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you kittens; the man is harmless. All bark and no bite." At this Echo and Query exchanged worrisome glances. Edward had used that old turn of phrase many a time regarding the popular Gotham DA. Between them though the two had seen more black eyes, bruises and cuts on their friend then they could count. There was no doubt that a unique bond existed between Harvey and Edward but no one understood why Edward indulged it like he did. He could always be seen the day after a fresh beating laughing and flirting with Harvey in some dark corner, most likely making light of his markings.

It was no secret that Harvey wanted a permanent relationship with Edward, to be his one and only client. It was not a secret that this was the topic of most of their arguments. Edward refused to be anyone's pet, constantly denying the man's one wish but still always charming him like he would a favorite lover. Edward was playing with fire when he played with Harvey Dent. No doubt he had already been burned many times...what could happen to him next was anyone's guess.

"He ain't much of a looker though," Query said, "that professor I mean. Least Harvey is a bit easier on the eyes, even with all of the, uh," she wiggled the fingers of her left hand towards the left side of her face. Conversation about Harvey's curious disfigurement rarely ventured outside of the realm of non-verbal gesticulation. How he had managed to perfectly scar just the left side of his face. Of course, no one had the audacity to ask, not even his best friend Judge Wayne had ever inquired to hear the tale. Echo wondered if the night Edward had turned up with a few shallow slash marks across his own left cheek had been a result from dear Edward trying to learn the secret.

Among those of the Joker's Wild the scaring made for an apt nickname for District Attorney Harvey Dent: Two Face. Star of the Gotham judicial circuit by day, meddler of sex, booze and crime by night.

"I'm not interested in him because I think he's good looking. Really Query, do you think me so shallow?" Both girls had to laugh at this. Edward pressed on as if he had heard nothing at all. "This is an intellectual pursuit, you know I am fond of such things from time to time."

"Eddie, picking up a couple-a crossword puzzle books from the drug store once a week does not count as an intellectual pursuit," Echo managed through her giggles.

"Oh yes, laugh it up my kittens! Ha-ha-ha!" Edward mocked the girls high pitched tittering. His pride was so easily hurt. How could Echo resist though? Intellectual pursuits, indeed! "But tomorrow I intend to return to that university and I'll-"

"Oh Eddie!" Echo grabbed the ruffled Edward with one hand and flagged down a young cocktail waiter with the other. "What you intend to do is sit here with Query and I and sip martinis until we're sick! Now sit down!" Angry as he was Edward would not say no to vodka, or gin or anything else that would make his skin hot and vision blurry. Besides, he was in need of a pinch of cash and inhibitions make one too picky. Edward did not mind a few regrettable notches on his bedpost as long as he was able to get a new suit or fine piece of jewelry out of it.

As luck would have it though, just when the big brass band began picking up 'Minnie The Moocher' for the third time that night Edward was approached by a swarthy gentleman in a firmly starched cravat.

"Mortimer Drake," Edward said in a scolding tone, "I thought you'd left this den of villainy for the more elite pastures of The Iceberg?"

"The men there are too cold," Mortimer whispered in his ear, "I came here looking for a boy to keep me warm tonight." There were worse men who could have propositioned him, Edward had noticed quite a few duds eying him all night from the bar. So when the cavalier Mr. Mortimer kissed his hand and promised him a ride home in the morning Edward bid his ladies a fond farewell and allowed himself to be escorted into the night.

If Edward had a skill above puzzles and riddles it was the ability to forget. He could will his mind, even with all its endless buzzing to become a blank slate, suppressing any memories, good or bad, and focus solely on his work. Thoughts of Jonathan, his new object of affection, of whom he had put much cognitive effort into were erased at the sight of an unmade bed and another man's naked form. His fiery red hair and cool grey-blue eyes might have well never existed as Edward had buried those distractions impossibly deep within his psyche. Everything had to be about Mortimer, or Harvey or whatever Joe-Shmoe with a handful of bills and a kind smile had wanted to take him home that night.

Mortimer was the old fashioned type. Edward knew he had to put on a coy persona with slow strip teases and averted eyes. He had to remain quiet during the act; no crying out or begging, completely forgoing any sort of encouragement. It was not particularly fun but it was what was expected of him, demanded of him and Edward performed the role flawlessly. For Mortimer he was a demure little creature and was well paid for it.

Come morning Edward got the ride home he was promised and promptly went up to his suite at the Gotham Towers for a quick shower and a costume change.

Edward found himself a charcoal three-piece with a mossy green pinstripe, all fitted over a silk ivory shirt that ghosted over his lean frame like a fine mist. Naturally he topped it all with his well-loved Beaver Brand bowler, which he placed jauntily askew on his slick black hair.

An unanticipated knock rapped at his door.

"Query!" He cried with shock and delight, "Goodness, what are you doing here? I would have assumed you and Echo were still just sleepy little balls of champagne at this hour."

"She might be," said Query, pushing her way into Edward's suite and flopping herself down on his bed. "Some blonde doll started buying her drinks right after you left and eventually took her home. Dunno where they went, lady looked like she had some real green though, had diamonds comin' out the wazoo!" Query's strawberry blonde locks that had been so tightly knotted the night before now lay loose in a gorgeous mess across Edward's comforter. The glittering gold shrug she had worn all night, that had caught every light and made her look like an exotic queen (Like Claudette Colbert in Cleopatra, Edward had told her) was now gone. Probably lying in a forgotten heap in the deep within the club, perhaps already discovered and wrapped around the shoulders of a lucky young thing. All she wore now was a black strapless dress, a stark contrast to her milky skin.

Edward's chest stung with a cold, paralyzing realization: Query was beautiful, truly beautiful. She did not need the feathers and the paints to fit into the superficial world of the Joker's Wild. She could have come in the door last night as she lay before him and would have had every man and woman vying for her company.

Edward had always adored naturally beautiful people. For all the praise he received for his appearance he always knew deep inside that he was average at best. Without his pomade, without his many trinkets and high end suits, without the little dabs of blush Edward put on his high cheek bones every morning he knew; average at best.

The winter clouds shifted, revealing the morning sun for one brief moment, shining on Query's red tendrils and making them electric. It was impossible for Edward to not think of the queer professor then. His clear carelessness over his appearance was intoxicating in itself. The fact the man took such unappealing characteristics; wrinkles, freckles and lifeless, waxen lips and managed to piece them into such a lovely image left Edward blissfully boggled.

"So," Query asked, rolling onto her stomach, propping up her morning fresh face on her hands, "guess it's just you and me today, huh?"

"It does appear to be that way, doesn't it?"

"Whaddaya wanna do?" At this Edward just smiled.

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Jonathan reached under his sweater vest, pulling out the key he had hanging from around his neck from a length of twine. After the insult to injury of being charged for the damages to the door Jonathan decided to take no more risk and made sure the lecture room key was on him at all times.

It was a twenty minutes until his next class was scheduled to begin which meant, taking his student's average arrival time into account, he would not have to worry about lecturing for another thirty. This left him plenty of time to go over his notes for the day and try and figure out how to dumb down the already simple concept of classical conditioning.

"You're a Georgian," Jonathan felt a sharp tightness in his throat. That voice, he knew that too cheery voice. "I thought Virginian for the longest time but you speak just a tad too slowly for that."

"You," Jonathan slowly craned his head upwards towards the back of the lecture hall where he could see the smartly dressed Edward Nygma and one of his little girlfriends wearing some men's knickerbockers and a dress shirt, "how dare you come back here…" Already he could feel all his muscles tighten as if ready to pounce like a tiger at Edward's smug smile.

"Oh, don't be such a poor sport!" Edward shot up out of his seat, "If it helps your wounded heart it wasn't so easy to figure out. I suppose I ought to give credit where credit is due and say well done! Initially I had you pinned for a Floridian if you can believe it," Edward laughed. "But with time it all came together. This must be a bitter defeat for you though, I imagine much work was put into fooling us Yanks. A student of many linguistic tutors, Professor?"

"How did you?" Jonathan pathetically stuttered out. He could not believe himself, how easily the tables were turned from his first encounter with Edward simply because the boy managed a lucky guess.

"I figured it out on my own," said Edward, descending the steps of the lecture hall, "I'm a student of life, you see, I enjoy the everyday puzzles it presents. And you, dear professor, are one of the most interesting cases I've come across. I'd like to study _you_."

"You? Study me?" Jonathan barked, "It is I who ought to put you in a cage for the good of the scientific community!" He moved to meet Edward half way up the steps. They were nearly nose to nose and Edward could smell the familiar scent of pomade, a brand though much cheaper in quality then what Edward used for himself. The smell was too thick, too greasy and now with being so close Edward could see how Jonathan's hair became clumped where the shoddy product had been applied. An anticipated layer of dust and a sort of earthy musk lay beneath the pomade, something that was certainly woven into the tight fibers of the professor's tweed jacket. Under that there was something Edward could not place. It stung his nostrils greatly when he caught it and made him involuntarily wrinkle his nose in the most unflattering way. Chemicals, something so clean it was not meant for human senses. Oh, but his perfect professor could carry it on his person and never once let it ruffle his serious demeanor!

"In all honesty," Edward began, amazed he could talk at all with how dizzy being near Jonathan was making him, "I came here to apologize for my little prank and whatever inconveniences it may have caused you."

"Do you honestly think a mere apology could make up for the damage you dealt?" Jonathan rasped, "That anything you have to say," he was quickly cut off with Edward shoving something in his hands.

A folder. A brown folder, forty pages thick.

"Do not worry, neither my kittens nor I reported you to the GCPD," Edward smiled, "assuming there is anything worth reporting there." He leaned in close, "Are you a spy?" Jonathan just rolled his eyes at this and made his way back down to his desk. Flipping through the folder he found all his notes were there though they were of little use to him now.

"I do not accept your apology," Jonathan said quietly. "And I suggest you leave immediately before an apology is required from me to your lady friend for having to witness your evisceration on the lecture room floor." Edward did not know what that word meant but it did not sound pleasant.

"Please," still, he could not relent, "let me buy you a drink this evening. Take you out to dinner, perhaps call it a date?" Jonathan could hardly believe his ears. Was this boy dense or did he truly have a death wish? Of course, Edward could not have known the full repercussions of his childish behavior and Jonathan had a feeling even if he tried to explain Edward would still be standing before him as he was now, with that same toothy grin on his face.

"Go," he decided to dumb the conversation down for Edward just as he had planned to do with his class, "go far away and leave me alone."

"Come on, I know a great little bar not too far from this place. A couple of beers and you and me will be real chums!"

"Yeah teach!" The girl in the knickerbockers called out from where she was still straddling a desk chair, "Cut the boy some slack!"

Jonathan rubbed his eyes, looking down at the returned notes before him. His precious notes with all the chemical equations he had lost innumerable hours of sleep over. The physical pain and mental anguish he had subjected himself to. If Edward could only understand…

Jonathan looked up.

"A drink?" He asked, "You want to take me out to consume large amounts of liquid?"

"Never heard it phrased like that before but," Edward shrugged, "yeah." The corners of Jonathan's lips began to twitch.

"Oh, I bet you like to drink, don't you?"

"Guilty as charged," laughed Edward, "I'm guessing that you have decided to grace me with your presence this evening?"

"It would be my pleasure. I will be free after five."

"All right then!" Edward clapped his hands, "Five o'clock, Duke's bar on Clark Street. It's just two blocks from here Ask any of your students I'm sure they know where it's at."

"I'll be there with bells on."

Jonathan watched Edward and his young lady friend as they left, waving as warmly as he could as to not arouse suspicion. His classes for the day in fact ended at three but Jonathan was going to need a few hours to prepare for his 'date'.

With ten minutes still to spare Jonathan ducked out to the teacher's lounge to make use of the phone.

"Operator, give me Klondike 4491, please."

"Pretty Poison Flowers and Gifts. This is Harleen, how may I assist you today?"

"Miss Harley," Jonathan whispered into the receiver, "it's me."

"Oh, heya professor, how's tricks?"

"Never mind that, I am calling to let you know I will be coming by the shop later for a special pick-up."


	5. Strange Fruit

Gotham City was a heavy city, the merciless crowds always threatening to crush anything that tried to interrupt the highly perfected fluidity of their movements, like a body trying to destroy a germ. Deep puddles of stagnant God- knows-what sat on every street corner and would soak its way through your sock and shoes and stain your pant cuff with a muddy grey that would never fully wash out. The air was thick with gasses from below and the noxious fumes from the busses and cars left your head spinning upward into the oppressive clouds that loomed ever threatening over the unsalvageable mess.

Upon his arrival to the city, seventeen-year-old Jonathan Crane learned quickly that to survive Gotham one needed to find a reprieve, an oasis that managed to remain untouched by the misery that seemed to cling to every inch of the city. The university library had been the first, followed closely by a small café just a block from the campus that became an early casualty of the stock market crash.

The last vestige of sanity for Jonathan came in the most unlikely of places.

Through the afternoon gloom he could see the stain glass sign of 'Pretty Poison' calling to him.

Jonathan had told Pamela that it was a terrible name, but she had brushed it off as part of his country boy ways.

"Can't call everything 'The General Store'."

"It sounds ghastly."

"Exactly why I chose it, dear professor. How could anyone not look twice?" As predicted the curious name was on everyone's lips weeks before her shop even opened. Even when it was revealed that Pretty Poison was no more than a corner flower shop crowds still continued to flock to it out of curiosity. Soon enough, the strange name went from an oddity to being synonymous with the most gorgeous arrangements in the metropolitan area.

There, Jonathan would spend many an afternoon with his old college friend, sipping tea and watching passing storms from the safety of her shop. Though Jonathan and Pamela were a psychologist and botanist respectively their paths had crossed during a semester of organic chemistry and had been companions ever since.

It had been years though since Jonathan had shared a quiet conversation with Pamela among the gardenias and hydrangeas, making her laugh and blush a hue as sweet as her most prized roses.

Pamela had left the store in the hands of her good friend Harleen, whom Jonathan had introduced to Pamela and whom he adored to no end. She had once been a student of his and since been the only one who seemed to share his incredible passion for the human psyche. For all her ditzy ways, Harleen Quinzell possessed a brilliant mind.

She always had a silly name for Pamela; coppertop, carrot cake, but he favorite was simply Red.

Jonathan always remained just 'Professor' even years after she graduated.

"Professor!"

Her boldness in fashion never ceased to amaze. Even in the biting February chill Harley was still daring enough to wear a crimson playsuit, its halter top tied back with a giant bow that bounced with each step. Her Chinese slippers made no sound but the trinkets she wore tied up in her childish pigtail jiggled merrily as she began to pick up her pace and Jonathan realized with horror and just a tad of excitement that she intended to jump with the expectation that the old professor was to catch her.

There was almost no weight to the girl but what little she had came at Jonathan hard, nearly knocking him off his feet. His bad knees threatened to buckle but Jonathan managed to brace himself against a pillar as Harley locked her lengthy legs around his waist and buried her nose deep into his neck. Of course some of the customers could not help but to stare. It was only the true regulars of the Pretty Poison did not bat an eye. They were quite accustomed to the unpredictable nature of the young shop girl.

"Miss Harley," Jonathan managed to gasp the girl's pet-name through her grip, "always…a pleasure."

"Yer early, Professor!" Harley swung herself out of Jonathan's arms with the same speed and strength she had used to charge into them. Once more Jonathan was forced to take hold of the random decorative items around the store to keep himself upright. "I wasn't spectin' ya for another twenty minutes. What's shakin', hm? What's new with you?"

"I am an old man and professor to boot," Jonathan smiled unnaturally, "what makes you think I have done anything of interest to a lovely young flower girl such as yourself?"

"You know Red's gonna ask me 'bout cha. She always does." The thought made a vice around Jonathan's chest tighter than any hold Harley ever thrust upon him. The memory of Pamela's round-about style of inquiring into his life curled Jonathan's lips, how she would often start with a yawn and follow with cool dismissals. He could hear her voice 'How you doing professor fuddy-duddy? Still playing doctor in your little lab?' and see her green eyes lidded and looking everywhere else but in his. A facade of boredom that she wore so beautifully well. But Jonathan could always see her slight quivering and the rapid beating of her heart beneath her ivory skin when they would meet. A mix of nerves and schoolgirl excitement he surmised. Jonathan liked very much that he could stir such feelings within such a lovely creature.

The image became a harsh one as Jonathan's mind began to force him to face the unpleasantries of her situation. He hated to think of Pamela's exotic dresses, French imports that had been such a refreshing sight in a time when handmade atrocities roamed the streets, being replaced by the grey slacks and shirts that made the uniform of Blackgate Penitentiary.

"As delightful as a visit with you always is I'm afraid I am pressed for time."

"Got a hot date, eh?" Harley had always been inclined to tease Jonathan about his bachelor status but never had she managed to make him so obviously embarrassed. His thoughts were heavy on Edward and the bar meeting, her timing for such jokes could not have been worse.

"For goodness sake," Jonathan attempted a laugh, "where would I possibly meet anyone who would have any interest in me?"

"I'd imagine the ol' Gee U has plenty of bright eyed things running about," at the thought of Edward's dazzling eyes Jonathan quickly pushed past the girl and into the backroom, muttering pure nonsense as he did so

Jonathan had always loved the dim little back room of Pretty Poison, with its lamps draped in sheer crimson fabrics and shelves lined with gin bottles. In all his many years Jonathan had never been what one would call a drinker but he enjoyed very much the memories the bottles invoked, of the times he and Pam had worked side by side during the wild days of prohibition mixing moonshine. Pressed close together in the shadows of Gotham's back alleys, making deals with the masked criminal kingpin and rum runner known only as Bane.

It was also the place where Pamela kept her "_special request._" Rare plants that required private placement. How each one thrived in the dark space was anyone's guess but Jonathan just chalked it up to Pamela's enchanted green thumb. For certain in the cell behind the stony walls of Blackgate she had managed to cultivate a few buds.

"So, which one of these little beauties did you come to see?" Harley waved her hand before the showcase of exotic flora.

"Nothing too fancy," said Jonathan as he approached a densely leafy bush with grapelike clusters of yellow berries. With his bare hand he broke off a few of the branches as Harley removed one of the empty gin jars from the shelves.

"What does that one do, professor?"

"By itself? Not much. When mixed with alcohol though," Jonathan chuckled darkly, "it can intensify the effects, causing one to lose complete self-control after only a glass or two of wine. Once the subject is at their most delirious the physical complications kick in and hours of retching and vomiting will soon follow, topped off with a full day of cold sweats and tremors. Sounds delightful, no?"

"Someone really cheesed ya off, didn't they?"

"Dear Harleen, you have no idea."

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Jonathan arrived home with the bottle of pulpy yellow juice safely tucked away in his jacket, keeping it concealed from his upstairs neighbor Miss Kyle who was, for all intents and purposes, an extreme recluse. On occasion though she could be seen in the small alley ways between their duplex and one of the neighbors, collecting cats to add to the frightening collection Jonathan knew was actively clawing, scratching and urinating without care over his head.

"Doctor," she would always nod curtly to him during their few encounters.

"Ms. Kyle," and Jonathan would do the same. He always did his best to avoid her wild eye stare as it was one of the few things that could truly unnerve him.

"Where on earth have you been?" Jervis threw down the feather duster he had been working over the mantle.

"I was at the shop," Jonathan did not need to give any more details. Jervis knew all about the Pretty Poison, of Pamela and Harley and the sinister plants that were tended to there.

"I thought after everything that happened with the board you decided to put your experiments on an indefinite hiatus?"

"Hiatus over," Jonathan said briskly, "you haven't disposed of any of my equipment, have you?"

"No, it's all where you last left it." Jervis followed Jonathan into the kitchen, watching him dragging out his Bunsen burner and attaching it to the questionably safe hook-up Jonathan had construction behind the gas oven. "Would it be inappropriate for me to ask why exactly you have decided to reassemble your laboratory? Or ask you when you are planning to take it down, I was going to make a pot roast this evening."

"Edward Nygma!" Jonathan barked over his shoulder. The name made even less sense to Jervis then the first time he heard it. For a person he had never met Edward Nygma was making Jervis's life quite difficult.

"Could you please give me more of an explanation? As far as I can tell, this Mr. Nygma is just some gremlin running around just causing senseless havoc wherever he goes."

"And you couldn't be more correct about the boy!" Jonathan leapt to his feet with a speed and grace impressive for a man his age and darted past his valet towards the back bedrooms. Jervis waited silently for Jonathan to return with his arms full of various sized beakers. "Damnation, I forgot which one works best with the _taxus narcissia_!"

"What exactly has he done now to warrant that awful concoction?" Jervis pointed to the gin jar, "Don't think I've forgotten the night you turned that vile juice on yourself! Nor the days that followed of having to clean up after all your lovely little messes!"

"The boy had the gall to meet me in my lecture hall today, calling me out on my accent and making some glib apology for all the trouble he unknowingly caused." Jonathan scoffed, "Foolish thing thought himself a gentleman and believed he might make amends through a night of inebriation at some disgusting saloon frequented by my idiot students. He actually called it a date!"

"You keep referring to him a boy," Jervis raised an eyebrow, "how old is this nemesis of yours?"

"The little whelp could not be older then twenty-one if I were to put money on it," Jonathan did not look up from his frenzied work as he spoke. "And you should see the way he dresses! Flashy, gaudy suits which I have no doubt are custom made. No store worth its salt would sell those monstrosities he sports." Jervis was quiet for a moment. His mind was anxious to try and put together who or what this Edward Nygma was supposed to be but despite his best efforts he kept coming up with a disagreeable result.

"So, he's a very young gentleman with what sounds like quite a bit of money, is a smart dresser who also invited you for a date at a cheap, dive bar?"

"It does not paint a favorable picture, does it?"

"No, it really doesn't," Jervis muttered to himself. "Jonathan, could I ask you a rather peculiar question?"

"I don't see the harm."

"How shall I put this? Would you call this young man," Jervis hummed, "attractive?"

"Attractive?" Jonathan paused briefly as he went over the various definitions of the word in his mind. Yes, Edward seemed to fit them all and he told Jervis so with little embarrassment. "Those are not my personal feelings, mind you, he merely possesses the features that the ladies in my youth seemed to deem desirable."

"I'm only asking because I think this Edward might be trying to proposition you."

"Proposition me?" Jonathan looked up to his valet, "What do you mean?"

"You're an older man," Jervis began, "you don't wear a wedding band so you are clearly single. It is a large misconception that those employed at the university have an excellent income…" The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together and Jonathan felt himself become ill at the image. Jonathan had not been so sheltered that he lacked any knowledge of what had been known in Alma as 'painted women'. Women who moved through the streets under the cover of night, their faces a thousand different colors, like a peacock trying to attract a mate.

A peacock. Jonathan's mind suddenly became a kaleidoscope of emerald green, lavender and glossy black. Like a peacock, beautiful and proud. Edward had been always been dressed to be noticed. He wanted Jonathan to notice him.

"Professor?" Whatever magic was in Jervis's voice that could snap Jonathan back into reality worked its charm. "Goodness, Jonathan, you're trembling."

"I suppose," Jonathan looked down at his hands, "I suppose I am."

"I could be wrong," Jervis said quickly, "but I always find myself reading an article every other day in the Gotham Times about the growing issue of prostitution within the city."

"No," Jonathan said, "I think you're right and damn my naiveté for not seeing it sooner."

"What are you going to do?" Jonathan felt himself caught quite off guard be the question.

"Continue with my plan of course! That boy thinks he can destroy my last chance with the director's board and then waltz right back into my life under the assumption that I am some sort of depraved ephebophiliac who is more than willing to waste my hard earned money on," Jonathan felt himself become light headed at the idea.

"What about the police? They," Jervis caught himself before he went any further. There was an unspoken concern the two shared about the GCPD. Every time they heard the wailing of their sirens both men hold their breaths till the sound grew faint and was finally drowned out by the endless rush of the city. Certainly filing a complaint with the police would be the most effective course of action. If Edward was indeed a prostitute he would evaporate into thin air at the mere idea of having cops sniffing around. Unfortunately for Jonathan and Jervis they were both in the same boat. If the police decided that the private life of the professor warranted investigating the tables could get turned right quick. Dabbling in illegal narcotics and having an apartment full of questionably obtained chemicals might just out weigh a young, smooth talking trick.

"The _taxus narcissia _is the best way to go about this," Jonathan said firmly. "After suffering through this not only will he never dare to cross paths with me again but I'm certain I will have done the city of Gotham a favor by permanently ridding it's streets of at least one sexual deviant."

"I hope you're right," Jervis said unheard as he turned back to his cleaning duties.

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Save for the thick, smoky atmosphere Jonathan found himself quite impressed with Duke's bar. It was slightly more upscale then the establishments he would visit back when his health permitted him to drink more frequently, made from dark wood, soft light and tall booths that hid the occupants from the hopper windows that lined the bar front. The few people Jonathan recognized as former students were already intoxicated and well on their way to unconsciousness. Jonathan felt himself safe to move freely among the patrons and even warmly greet Edward without word of the encounter getting back to the university.

In the corner a player piano was gaily playing 'Little Brown Jug' with quite a few of the men huddled around it warbling pathetically through the words.

"_Ha, ha, ha, you and me,_

_Little brown jug, don't I love thee!_

_Ha, ha, ha, you and me,_

_Little brown jug, don't I love thee!"_

"You should hear them do 'Alexander's Ragtime Band!" Jonathan turned to see a very amused Edward, leaning his lithe frame against a black lacquered cane with a gold head.

"Does it sound better?" Asked Jonathan. Edward laughed.

"A thousand times worse! You gotta hear it though, it's really something awful!" Despite himself, Jonathan left a small smile sneak onto his face. "I reserved us a cozy little spot in the back, perfect place for two people to get better acquainted." Part of Jonathan desperately wished that the conversation he and Jervis had shared that afternoon had ever occurred. This whole plan would be so much easier to execute if he did not now have to concern himself with Edward's supposed ulterior motives.

A wide palm and long fingers gently placed themselves on the small of Jonathan's back.

"S'all right teach," Edward whispered, "come on, let's get a drink in ya, loosen you up a bit." Jonathan closed his eyes and thought of the weight of the glass bottle of _taxus narcissia _poison in his front pocket.

"That would be lovely," Jonathan said plainly. To this Edward smiled.

"Right this way," and began steering Jonathan through the crowd, to the shadowed back wall of the bar with his gentle touch.


	6. Moonglow

I apologize for the short update. I wanted this to be longer but I've been a bit busy.

There's a million versions of Moonglow out there, the one I imagined for this section is the Frances Langford version which you can look up on YouTube if you are so inclined. I think her earliest recording of it was 1938 or1939 but hell, I've taken a few liberties with history already, what's one more?

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Jonathan felt himself become weightless under the dizzying spell of déjà vu, that ever dreaded feeling of walking into a dream he'd had a thousand times. The gentle push on his lower back had led him through an archway draped in heavy curtains whose pattern was akin to what he could trace through the darkness of the inside of his eyelids. On the other side was a room lit only with the wavering flames of votive candles scattered across several booths and tables, the dance of the their soft lined shadows on the walls begged him to join with the promise that he already knew all the steps.

Breathing deeply Jonathan even found the scent of the room painfully familiar; warm melting wax, cigar smoke and must that made him lonesome for some brighter days from his past.

"Where are we?" He whispered, though Jonathan was not entirely sure why. Despite the multitude of candles, the deep silence of the space indicated clearly to him that he and Edward were quite alone.

"Just a little place I used to come to," Edward said, his gentle touch still guiding Jonathan now across a rosewood dance floor. Through the darkness Jonathan could see the outline of a stage and a lone microphone stand. Edward indicated what seemed to Jonathan to be a random booth and he took a seat. To Jonathan's surprise though Edward did not join him on his side, rather he sat himself directly across from his date.

"Wasn't always like this," Edward said somewhat sadly, removing his Beaver Brand bowler, "used to be quite the little hot spot but, well, you know as well as I how quickly things can change."

"You seem a bit too young to really remember the crash," said Jonathan, "I assume that is what you meant by 'change'.

"My sixteenth birthday was on Black Tuesday," there was a soft laugh in Edward's words, "if anything I remember it too well." Jonathan adjusted his glasses as he did the math in his head. He had been a year off, Edward was to be twenty-three in the coming October.

"If I may ask, what was a teenager doing in what was then certainly an illegal speakeasy?" All of Edward seemed to soften at this question. His eyes became half -lidded, his lips parted to pass a long, tired exhale. His well-defined Adam's apple bobbed along with a few quick swallows.

"My father used to come down here and drink almost every night when I was a boy," he began, "after dinner my mother would always send me to fetch him before he spent all his day's earnings on liquor and girls. The owners got to know me fairly well after a year or so and they would let me come in and sit in a back corner and watch the shows until my stupid drunk of a father just got himself kicked out." As quickly as it had left Edward's self-assurance sprang back onto his face. His eye lit up once more like polished emeralds as his signature toothy smile worked the accustomed wrinkles back onto his face.

"Why would you bring me to such a place?" Jonathan said slowly after a pause.

"You were clearly upset by my ability to detect the accent you worked so hard to conceal," Edward reached across the table and patted Jonathan's clasped hands. Jonathan just stared blankly at the gesture, not sure if Edward was being patronizing or if he was genuinely trying to console him. "It only seemed fair that I reveal to you some aspect of my past I'm not particularly fond of." It seemed that Edward viewed privy information as pawns in a game, some sort emotional quid pro quo that he could never lose because he could not make himself feel.

Jonathan carefully studied Edward's face. Not a single tell to indicate that he felt anything more than content.

"Well, now that we've squared away all the business," Edward snapped his fingers twice in succession, "let's have ourselves a few cocktails!" An unassuming waiter came out from the shadows and approached the booth. "Pick your poison, Professor."

"Whatever you are having will be fine."

"Two double vodka martinis then!" The waiter said nothing, just gave a curt bow and returned to the darkness. Jonathan felt his heart drop. He had intended to try and intercept the drinks at some point during the night, slip a few drops of the elixir into Edward's drink and gracefully excuse himself before it had time to react. Now, with the drink delivery streamlined down to one man moving between them and the bar what hope did he have to see his plan to fruition?

"I'm so glad you agreed to come and see me this evening," Edward seemed to be swooning, "it's so rare I get to spend time with people with your level of intellect."

"Can't imagine why." Jonathan could just as easily play the deduction game as well as Edward. He was after all a trained psychologist though did not take a mind as finely sharpened as his to see Edward for what he was; a self-indulgent, egomaniacal little peacock. All Jonathan had to do was keep feeding Edward questions about himself, let the boy mindlessly go on about his perceived greatness and try to find another angel from which he could attack the situation.

"So, Mr. Nygma," Jonathan smiled as waiter reemerged with a tray of martinis, "tell me about yourself."

Edward's answers were painfully shallow and rehearsed. The boy had an ego but the love was all for the stage persona he had created. Had Jonathan honestly given a damn he would have pushed the boy to address his obvious issues of self-loathing, perhaps even how it tied into his relationship with his alcoholic father and nights of anonymous sex. But he did not care so he let Edward ramble on about his fairy tale; Edward Nygma, the smartest, happiest, most beloved little hooker in all of Gotham.

The flow of drinks was endless. After a while Jonathan was not even keeping count, just idly sipping as he listened to Edward's voice. He was a born speaker, his words as intoxicating as the vodka. Even though Jonathan only found himself half amused with Edward's overly exaggerated tales of misdemeanors and mischiefs he could not deafen his ears. Edward was able to weave the most mundane story about missing a trolley and having to catch a ride on the back on a milk truck to make a date into something on par the Homer's _Odyssey_.

So when Edward shifted the conversation to Jonathan naturally it caught the taller man a bit off guard.

"You like to dance, Professor?" This question sobered Jonathan up for one bright moment before dropping him back into the haze of inebriation.

"Dance?" He questioned the word as if it were the first time he ever heard it, "I could not say if I enjoy it as I refuse to engage in such nonsense."

"Don't be that way," said Edward, slipping out of the booth. Again, he snapped his fingers over his head, this time summoning a spot light from some place unseen across the dance floor. Its white light shot towards the ceiling, giving life to a mirror ball above the stage who in turn reflected a thousand spinning points of light all around the room. Jonathan could feel his head spinning with them.

"I honestly am hard pressed to believe this night could get any more surreal." Jonathan had no idea who he was talking to, words were just spilling out of his mouth. As if by magic soft music began to play and a woman's soothing voice filled the space. "Mercy Christmas."

_"__It must have been moonglow,_

_ Way up in the blue,_

_ It must have been moonglow,_

_ That led me straight to you…"_

"Dance with me?" Edward's voice almost pathetically pleaded, already aware of how hard his case for closeness would be to sell to the somber professor. For a moment Jonathan's slowed mind processed the situation. They would be away from the drinks, Edward no doubt be distracted in an attempt to impress Jonathan with all the ludicrous hops and spins and kicks that qualified as dancing these days. Perhaps when his back was turned Jonathan would have the half a second he needed to taint Edward's drink.

_"I still hear you saying,_

_ "'Dear one, hold me fast,'"_

"All right," said Jonathan, climbing awkwardly onto his unsteady legs. How many martinis had he had? Were his legs always this long?

_"And I started praying,_

_ "'Oh Lord, please make this last.'"_

"Although," Jonathan continued as he joined Edward's side, "call me a tin ear but isn't this music a bit slow for, what do you call it? Jittering and jiving and such?" Edward laughed and sighed.

"Professor, you are just as cute as a bug's ear," he took Jonathan's hand and placed in unashamedly on his hip, "and I'm too short to lead."

"Well, you," Jonathan felt Edward arm reach up around his neck, barely able to make a comfortable angle. Edward then put out his free hand, palm up and Jonathan slowly but surely took the cue. "I suppose I'll lead."

_"We seemed to float,_

_ Right through the air."_

Jonathan kept his eyes upward, focused completely on the mirror ball, telling himself that this was all necessary for his plan. He just had to keep Edward's trust until a more lively song came on the victrola and then he could have his victory. The sweet revenge for everything the foolish creature in his arms had wrought.

Edward shifted closer. If it were at all possible Jonathan felt himself become more rigid at the soft nuzzling of Edward's nose on his neck.

_"Heavenly songs_

_ Seemed to come from everywhere" _

"Are you nervous?" Edward's breath was so wonderfully warm on his skin, Jonathan could feel all the short hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"No," he lied. Edward was now firmly pressed against him, how he did not feel the bottle in his front pocket by now was beyond Jonathan.

"Don't worry, you're doing wonderful." Jonathan almost wanted to laugh as he and Edward were really doing nothing more than just swaying in time to the music. But that seemed to be enough for Edward, just moving around in a tight circle, his head resting on Jonathan's shoulder as if they had been dancing together like this for years. The simple intimacy of it, that was all Edward wanted.

Certainly it was the alcohol taking effect but Jonathan had to admit there was something enjoyable about just being close to someone for the sake of being close. Up until that moment under the mirror ball Jonathan's physical interactions with other humans had been less than ideal. Between getting jerked out of nightmares by Jervis and being lovingly attacked by Harleen's death hugs (though he understood the well-meaning behind both gestures) he had forgotten that touch can be a nice, even calming experience.

"Jonathan," Edward stopped moving. Jonathan was certain his heart had stopped beating.

Edward had said his name.

Jonathan broke his gaze with the mirror ball and looked down at the boy resting against him.

"What is it, child?"

_"We seemed to float,_

_ Right through the air…"_

It was all just a blur of alcohol, heat and spinning starlight. Jonathan felt Edward push himself on his tip toes and was hit with the smell of warm vodka being heavily exhaled on his lips. Their noses were just barely touching, Edward's pupils were wide and deep and searching. From his lips came a soft sort of mewl, a mix of excitement and fear and in that moment Jonathan was hit with a surge of panic he had not felt since he was a child.

The next thing Jonathan knew Edward was on his hands and knees, looking up at him like a scared puppy as he rubbed the side of his face. In his ears Jonathan could hear the echoing crack of the blow he had delivered and a throbbing pain on his left palm. His breath was coming hard and fast, as if he had just run from one side of Gotham to the other. Through his entire body a violent tremor was growing and after a few moments of being unable to form an explanation Jonathan just ran, never once looking back.

Edward remained on the floor, trying to hold back the tears threatening to boil over in his eyes. He told himself it was just a natural reaction to being hit, he always cried when Harvey hit him.

"You're fine, Eddie, everything is," Edward heard his own voice break into a pathetic sob. "You're fine," he kept telling himself with shaking words, "you're okay…"

_"And now when there's moonglow,_

_ Way up in the blue_

_ I'll always remember_

_ That moonglow gave me you…"_


	7. These Foolish Things

To all the reviewers: thanks for the support. I had actually been sitting on this story for two years now, just something to putz around with when I wasn't in the mood to work on any original fiction. I honestly never thought the niche market of historical Batman villain romance had enough of a following to make posting this tome worth my while. Thanks for reminding me how amazingly weird the fanfiction community can be (I mean that in the nicest way possible).

In case I need to warn against allusions to drug use: References to reefer madness ahead.

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Jonathan felt like he was drowning.

His lungs were filling to capacity over and over but still he felt himself on the verge of complete collapse. All the strength of his body had drained into his legs making them heavy and useless, causing him to crash into the other bar patrons to whom he could not formulate a simple apology. Jonathan knew he had to get out of that bar and away from the noise, away from the undulating heat of the crowd and the swarms of police officers pouring in the front door.

"Mercy," Jonathan heard himself rasp. It looked like half the GCPD was coming into Duke's and they were definitely not off duty. Uniforms, batons and their badges clearly visible; the officers were there for business.

Was it possible Edward had bamboozled him once more? Deceived him into believing that they were just meeting for drinks so that he could have Jonathan caught red handed dancing intimately with a prostitute? A male prostitute twenty years his junior? Not wanting to take the risk, Jonathan attempted to duck out in the men's lavatory to find it occupied.

But Jonathan was too drunk to let something as simple as a locked door foil him. Kicking into a bar restroom seemed completely rational at that moment.

"Hey man, scram! Can't you see this-shit! Professor Crane?"

"Dick Grayson!" Jonathan's contempt for his most hated of laze about students had found his voice. Unfortunately it was one uncultivated and barked at the boy with his Georgian accent at full tilt. "What business does a freshman have in a bar washroom? My sainted aunt, how did you even get in here? I must assume that clutch of police officers is here to drag you off to whatever cold cell they keep on reserve for errant youths! I shall see to it personally that when you are apprehended they waste no time shipping you off the some Godless corner of Europe, cleaning latrines until sweet kismet brings war upon your empty head!" The words shot from Jonathan's mouth in one perfect, angry stream, all the while Dick was unceremoniously climbing out the single hopper window in hopes of escape.

"Shit! Shit! Please, Professor Crane, don't tell nobody you saw me here! I-I'm sorry!"

"I expect to see you bright and early for class tomorrow, young man! And you damn well better not be hung over or the GCPD will be the least of your worries!"

Once alone, Jonathan locked up the damaged door the best he could and attempted the meditative breathing techniques he employed when his toxins would make him jittery and anxious.

Jonathan had always had a keen nose, something that had been remarkably useful to him especially during the early chemical trials of his youth. Having only known half the names of the wild flora of rural Georgia, Jonathan had made good use of his olfactory prowess to detect which plants would make for the most potent toxins. What he smelled smoldering on the window ledge was something quite familiar. Something he had experimented with before that, though it had not yielded the nightmarish hellscapes that Jonathan sought to release on his childhood tormentors, he found gave him the most incredible sense of euphoria when inhaled.

The inbred laborers from the Florida panhandle that would come up during the summer always reeked of it. They called it ju-ju weed but Jonathan learned through proper schooling it was a flowing herb of the genus _cannibus, _also known as marijuana.

Jonathan plucked the roach from the window ledge.

"Idiot," he muttered to himself. Though Jonathan knew there was no truth to the Federal Bureau of Narcotics claim that marijuana made one in a raving lunatic capable of the most unspeakable acts, he was aware of how well the drug slowed the mind…and if Dick Grayson's mind got any slower the boy might as well be dead.

His own mind and rapid heart rate though could have used some quelling. Jonathan tentatively brought the blackened nub to his lips, the pungent scent making his eyes water.

"Damnation! What am I doing?" Jonathan asked aloud, throwing the roach into the toilet. In a week he had gone from being a respected professor with just a questionable hobby of dabbling in homemade toxins to being some pervert accepting dates from hookers, drinking hard liquor until he was senseless, evading the police and breaking into public bathrooms like a g-man into a speakeasy. All while smoking illegal narcotics to calm the nerves that had become so frazzled!

Reaching into his front pocket Jonathan removed the glass bottle there and began pouring the _taxus narcissia _into the toilet. He pulled the flush chain over and over until the swirling yellow liquid was no more while cursing the name of Edward Nygma: evil incarnate. This was all that Edward's fault. Again, the boy had meddled in his life in an indirectly disastrous way. Jonathan could think of no more apt of an example than a puppet being pulled along by a six-year-old puppeteer , just a child wanting to amuse themselves with no care for their toy. Jonathan ought to be home in bed or hunched over his desk, not cowering in a public toilet praying to a deity he did not even acknowledge to save him from the GCPD.

Jonathan splashed some cool water from the sink on his face and took inventory of himself in the mirror. He looked at himself intensely, all forty-four years of himself and the wrinkles and permanent marks that those years had left. The blue of his eyes had grown more pale but his freckles somehow were as apparent as ever. In the end though he was Jonathan Crane, no , Doctor Jonathan Crane, the professor of psychological studies at Gotham University. And he was done with this nonsense. No more Edward Nygma, no more attempted revenges. His life was already mad enough trying to balance work and scientific pleasure he did not need that little trollop mucking it up any further.

Another splash of water, Jonathan let his trembling fingers linger on his lips that had grown so thin with age.

They were not lips meant for kissing, not anymore.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

There was little that could be done about the blossoming bruise, Edward already knew that lesson too well. He had some make up at home that Echo and Query had gifted him after a very long weekend at Harvey's summer home upstate but until then he had to wear the mark Jonathan had so kindly given out through the bar and onto the street with indifference. It was a role he had played many times and Edward was certain it would not be the last.

Duke's in late winter was not something Edward was used to. Since the repeal of prohibition and his father's suicide, the only time he came by the bar was in the fall to prey on the innocent freshmen up from the suburbs and the summer to give the seniors one last hurrah before entering the normal, professional world. It was definitely much more crowded then he would have liked, Edward just hoped his eyes weren't too red from the tears. Bruises he could wear with grace, internal marks against him proved to more of a challenge then he liked.

It did not seem at all probable that the night could get worse. There were few places lower than having the person whom you've obsessively had feelings for closest to love for reject you, slap you and run off into the night, never to be seen again.

Edward never considered though having the man who obsessed about you trail you to a bar and send every available cop to drag you kicking and screaming to his feet.

"Harvey Dent," Edward sighed as he surveyed the bar of uniformed men, "you son of a bitch."

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"Edward Nygma?" Jonathan heard a bellowing voice from behind the washroom door. There was then the clatter of bar stools and the gasp of shocked patrons. By the sound of it there seemed to be enough of a commotion that Jonathan felt he might be able to slip by. In any event it seemed the police had their man and thankfully it wasn't him.

Jonathan emerged from the washroom to see Edward being cuffed. The young man was not fighting it, in fact, he did not even seem to be upset. An unreadable smirk was all that graced his face as the officer read him his Miranda rights.

"Gentlemen, surely you have something better to do with your time than hassle some poor boy down on his luck?"

"We have orders from the District Attorney's office to have you taken in immediately on suspicion of prostitution. I suggest you keep your mouth shut till you meet with a lawyer if you know what's good for ya!"

"If I knew what was good for me I wouldn't be making my living on my knees." Jonathan silently wished Edward would just shut the hell up. Why did the boy always have to make a scene?

"All right folks, nothing to see here!" Some fresh faced rookie began to push the patrons aside.

There was a moment, a brief pause when the world slowed and Edward's green eyes locked with Jonathan's blue. Jonathan held his breath, not sure if the spurned Edward would levy accusations against him. He was too old to spend a night with his hands shackled in some cold cell. But Edward did nothing more than hold his queer smirk, even as he was being jerked about and shoved carelessly through the crowd.

"It was nice while it lasted!" He finally shouted just before being dragged out the door.

"What did I tell you about keeping your mouth shut!"

Duke's was all abuzz. Jonathan just waited in the back of the crowd until the sirens were long gone and headed into the chilly night. The wind was picking up off The Narrows, the blast made his bones ache and joints burn. The winters in Gotham seemed to be getting longer and longer. Jonathan was not sure the last time he had felt the sunshine on his cheeks.

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Edward asked for a copy of his mug shot.

"Make a lovely birthday present for my mama."

But he was denied. He did not much care for having his fingerprints taken. It was a messy process and the guards did not seem as concerned as he was about getting ink on his suit.

"I bet the waistcoat alone cost more than your home."

After that it was a private cell and a full hour of pacing. Edward was too mad to sit, sitting was for happy, relaxed people. Not for people who had been arrested just to prove a point.

"Fancy meeting you here," Edward heard the voice he had been both dreading and anxiously anticipating all night, "you come here often?" Watching him from the dark beyond the bars was a very notable pair of eyes. The left was long dead with yellowed sclera and a muted dot of gray serving as an ornamental pupil. Though it saw nothing it moved in sync with its brother which was settled in a paling blue. It was clear through the slow dulling of coloration in the right ocular that it too was beginning to fail from the strain of double duty.

To complete the look a custom pair of pince-nez glasses framed the two. The right spectacle was three times the size of the left and fitted with a bifocal lens to accommodate what little seeing could be done.

"Well," Edward stretched out his arms, "here I am in my little cage. Just the way you've always wanted me, Harv." Harvey scoffed.

"I never said I wanted you in a cage."

"You didn't have to, you just ambushed me and threw me in one. A little warning would have been much preferred."

"I'm sorry," Harvey's form began to shift out from the shadows, "were my numerous advances not warning enough? You know what kind of power I have, Little Prince, did you think I would never use it to get you?" Even when they were on their tentative good terms Edward still hated Harvey's nickname for him. Now when they were at odds, just seeing the man's grotesque lips form the words made him a little ill.

"I guess that's my fault for trusting our government officials to never abuse their power. Curious, how much in tax payer's dollars is this little stunt going to set you back? Two, maybe three hundred?" Edward laughed, "Please Harvey, I've never charged _that _much!"

"Shut up!" Harvey shouted. Edward's cocky demeanor dropped. Even with iron bars going six feet into concrete between them Edward was still afraid of Harvey's strength. The handsome DA had more of it than anyone could guess. "I saw you with Drake the other night at the Joker's Wild. You met Matt Hagan after his opening for 'Hamlet' at the Gotham Performing Arts just the week before." Harvey stepped forward, wrapping his hands around the bars, "You spent New Year's Day walled up inside the Iceberg with that disgusting little sideshow act, Oswald Cobblepot."

"So, you've been following me," Edward said calmly, but in his mind he was frantically retracing his tracks, trying to remember every detail of his encounters with Jonathan. He did not remember seeing anything odd but the truth was when he was alone with the professor Edward had eyes for nothing else. There could have been a circle of spies all around them and Edward would have been none the wiser.

"You've been spending a lot of time at the university too," Harvey said, "looking to expand your playing field?"

"Those college kids make for stimulating conversation," Edward tried to shrug the question off as coolly as he could, "you know how I like to gab in bed."

"Unfortunately."

"Come on Harv," Edward did a slinky walk up to the bars, pouting his and batting his eyes, "just take me home tonight. I'll make it up to you for all those other men. Hell, I'll even cook you breakfast in the morning."

"You can't cook," Harvey said flatly, "and if you come home with me tonight it will be the last time."

"You know I can't do that," Edward did not know why he was thinking about Jonathan at that moment. Jonathan had thoroughly rejected him. But still…

"I have a court date all set up," Harvey said, "one week from today; you, me and my good buddy Judge Wayne. I can guarantee you right now Edward, you will not win that case. Even if you try to find someone to testify in your honor you know I'll have my men digging up every ounce of dirt that's on them."

"Is this how you really want to get me?" Asked Edward, toying with Harvey's tie through the bars, "Blackmail? What about the thrill of the hunt?"

"In one week the hunt is over. Either you come home with me or I'll convince Wayne to give you the maximum sentence of two years all because you can't keep your damn legs crossed." Edward stepped back, way back, until he was almost against the back wall of his cell.

"Sorry Harv, I just don't want to owe you any favors." Harvey was silent for a long while. Edward did not need the dim glow of the hanging lights to know what Harvey Dent was doing.

He was flipping that damn coin.

Edward could never remember where he had picked it up specifically: England, France, Germany or none of the above. All he knew was Harvey at taken the coin as a souvenir from his WWI tour and prized it as some sort of supernatural compass that had been guiding his life ever since. Edward did not believe in superstition and wholly subscribed to the idea that one made their own luck. That Harvey felt he needed to consult an inanimate piece of currency before making any decision truly came across to Edward as a deep and tragic flaw.

Harvey though had all together stopped using the coin in regards to Edward. His incredible sense of ownership of the boy was unmatched, nothing could sway him from it. His coin could tell him a thousand times to let Edward be and Harvey would just ignore it. It was both flattering and frightening.

"One week," Harvey's deep voice shattered the silence, "think about it, Little Prince."

"I won't, but thanks for the offer."

What Edward did think about was those two years at Blackgate. Harvey was right, nothing could save him. Harvey probably had a whole mess of hired goons ready to say Edward solicited them, maybe even performed a few lewd acts. All Edward would have in his defense was a few character witnesses but there was no doubt Harvey would make good on his threat. Echo and Query alone had enough dirt on them to fill every plot at the Gotham City Cemetery. Edward had never run with a squeaky clean crew. Where was the fun in that?

Edward always knew his luck would run out someday but he never imagined it would be like this. Between and rock and a hard place with a broken heart in his chest. Either way, no matter what he chose Edward would feel like a loser. Either way, he would not have Jonathan. Harvey might as well have strapped him to the electric chair and called it a day.


	8. Goody-Goody

I really hope this chapter isn't too weird. It's a court room drama scene so it requires a ton of suspension of disbelief. I'm talking Law and Order levels of disbelief. No, they don't over enhance any video footage…but they might as well.

Oh, and for anyone paying attention, yes the Ganymede Club is named after the same butler's club Jeeves of _Jeeves And Wooster_ fame frquents.

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Bruce Wayne was a good man.

It was no mystery after a short but spirited life as an assistant DA that he would be called up to serve as an honored judge of Gotham City. Of course there had been naysayers, those who claimed that he bought his coveted seat with his parent's precious fortune or through the guilt of their tragic deaths. In return these accusations were met with the counter argument that because of his mommy and daddy's money Bruce did not even have to bother himself with a single day of honest work, let alone entangling himself in the dirty underbelly of Gotham City. Where most were concerned Bruce Wayne had come from a long line of noble philanthropist. Civil service was in his blood and it was to be honored.

But Bruce Wayne did not feel like a good man.

He had voiced these feelings to several of his friends within the judicial circuit. One full year had passed and he still felt his presence had not made a dent in the ever growing numbers and varieties of crime in Gotham City.

"Brucie, you're just one guy. What'd you expect?" Was all they would say before handing him a scotch and cigar.

Bruce expected everything, from himself and from the people of Gotham. In the brief years that Bruce had spent with his father, Thomas Wayne had instilled in his son one simple truth: that there is good in all men. Even after his was gunned down like an animal in a desolate alley, Bruce could see those words echo in his father's eyes as their light became dim.

"I honestly believe this case can change the tide, Bruce." In Bruce's mind, the only other man that understood his passion for justice served was his best friend and star district attorney Harvey Dent, "Edward Nygma needs to be made an example of." Bruce sipped at the snifter in his hand, swirled it about thoughtfully then finished the brandy left there in one swallow.

"Harvey, I have tried more cases on prostitution than I can count. The majority of which were repeat offenders. Incarceration seems to have little to no effect, why on Earth are you so convinced that this particular young man's conviction is going to change anything?" The piano player finished his very lively rendition of 'Ain't We Got Fun', and the bar of the exclusive Bistro On The Grass was filled with the muted applause of gloved hands. Both Bruce and Harvey obliged and joined the crowd before turning back to conversation.

"The sort of street walkers you tried before were just that: common trash and junkies who did not care if they saw tomorrow. I have it on good authority that this Mr. Nygma operates inside the gentleman clubs with a client list made up of some of the biggest power players in Gotham City." Harvey's mix matched eyes went wide.

"And how exactly are you privy to such information?"

"Bruce," Harvey laughed, "that's not something you need to concern yourself with." A young waitress came by with a fresh snifter of Courvoisier for both Bruce and Harvey.

"It sounds like you believe conviction is going to topple some house of cards made from illicit sexual acts," Bruce said once they were again alone.

"A full conviction will," said Harvey, "it will send a message that the DA and the city of Gotham will no longer turn a blind eye to this sort of behavior from our city officials or social elite." Bruce was quiet as he considered this. What Harvey was saying made sense yet at the same time Bruce did not see the point of turning his court into a sensationalist circus. The last decade had been fraught with such doubt within all levels of government, there needed to be some level of discretion.

"This so called list of power players, we cannot have it go public," he told Harvey, "can I trust the information is sound? If I bring Mr. Nygma's council into my chamber and question him he will concede that the list is correct?" Harvey chuckled at this.

"The idiot refuses to accept council."

"All right," Bruce said, not at all trying to hide his shock, "but my question still stands."

"You're putting more thought into this then you need to," said Harvey, speaking to his friend like a mother would to a child who had crawled into her bed after a bad dream, "I assure you Bruce, everything is legitimate. I have been working closely with this case since its inception; I have spoken with these men myself, gone over their testimonies."

"I'm putting my faith in you, Harvey."

"It is faith well placed," Harvey assured him. "Bruce, I am giving you the solution to a major crime problem on a silver platter, no strings attached. Even this Mr. Nygma is aware of how dire his situation is, that is how I have interpreted his rejection of council. I have made you a solid case, there's no need for you to do anything more than deliver that guilty verdict." Bruce did not like things that came easy, it was too hard for him to believe that one trial could accomplish more than his entire judgeship thus far. "For the good of Gotham city Bruce, you have to deliver that verdict."

"You would never lead me astray, would you Harvey." It was not a question. If anyone but Harvey Dent had brought this proposition to Bruce he would have laughed them out of his chambers. But here at his favorite watering hole with his best friend over brandy Bruce knew he was in good hands.

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Jonathan was aware of the works of the Swiss psychologist Hermann Rorschach, of the man's adaptation of the psychoanalytical theory that a person's unconscious neurosis could be drawn out through their interpretation of simple ink blots. It was an interesting idea, one he had never employed in all the short years of his private practice but as Jonathan lay supine on his fainting couch he wondered what the patterns in his ceiling were trying to tell him about himself. He had been staring at the same spot for an hour, a knot in the wood that looked like a giant eye looking back into his own. Was the eye judging him? Was it indifferent to his plight? Did it know that even after five days' time Jonathan was still unable to shake all thoughts of Edward and the boy's arrest?

"What are we looking at?" Jonathan shifted his eyes to see that Jervis lying parallel to him on the floor. When he wanted to, the man had an uncanny ability to just appear out of thin air.

"Not really looking, just thinking of Ms. Kyle," Jonathan lied absently. He had not told Jervis the truth of what had occurred at Dukes, simply told him that Edward had never showed and in frustration drank himself into the miserable state that had found him crouched over their toilet all night long.

"I think about her from time to time as well," said Jervis, "especially early in the morning, she and her cats cause such a ruckus before you wake. I have a theory about that though."

"Do you?"

"Yes," Jervis sat up and leaned in close to his friends face, "I think she might be a cat burglar!"

"You think that poor Ms. Kyle, the frumpy little agoraphobic with fifteen hundred cats leads a double life at night as a high society jewel thief?"

"No," said Jervis, "I think he's begun resorting to stealing cats to add to her collection." Jonathan just stared wordlessly at his valet. "You don't think that's funny?"

"Not particularly." Jervis sighed and climbed to his feet.

"Forgive me for trying to put a smile on your face. You've been so gloomy since the weather change." The endless downpour that had begun during his taxi ride home from Dukes had done no favors for Jonathan's aging body, a body that had already been worn down before it had ridden sixteen rotations of the sun. The endless toiling in the barren fields of his youth had put years on Jonathan that he had not yet lived.

Jonathan hated watching how effortlessly Jervis moved around the apartment, a man so close to his own age, had Jonathan not been born a month premature the two could have been twins. There was always a healthy glow to his cheeks; his hair was still as golden blonde as it had been in their days as students. The heat of the summers did not make him groggy nor did the winters cripple him. In the coat closet they shared there was only one walking stick, one custom made for a person with lengthy legs.

"This doesn't have anything to do with that Edward boy, does it?" Jervis asked with a wily rise of his eyebrows. "I thought you said you had washed your hands of the whole miserable affair?"

"I have and it doesn't," Jonathan heard his body crack like the logs burning in the fireplace as he moved to make himself upright, "you know what the cold does to my old bones."

"Which is why I have set up an afternoon activity that is low on physical exertion and high on intellectual dexterity," Jervis came and put an arm around Jonathan's waist to help him get on his feet. Jonathan hated how helpless he could feel at times.

On the tiny kitchen table sat the gorgeous old mother of pearl and black marble chess set they had bought for pennies at an estate sale five years ago.

"Ah, an activity tailored to your skill set!" Jonathan pulled out the chair behind the black pieces. "My, my, imagine my surprise."

"Well, if this doesn't please you we can go find my old croquet set a play a few rounds in Robinson Park." Jervis said over the noise he was causing in preparation of a pot of tea. Jonathan had nothing to say to that.

All through the afternoon, with the pitter patter of rain on the kitchen window and cups of earl gray steaming beside them Jervis and Jonathan strategized over the chess board. For all his efforts though, Jonathan found each game yielded the same end result.

"Check mate!" Jervis was beginning to sound like a broken record. It was not that Jonathan minded losing to his friend, having grown up such a lonely child it was nice just to have someone who wanted to play with him even if he had no chance at a victory. It was simply the long, drawn out defeat that came with chess. Watching each of his pieces one by one by snatched away, making him feel more vulnerable as the game wore on.

Making him feel helpless.

The grid like pattern of the chessboard played on Jonathan's mind in the same fashion he imagined how Rorschach's ink blots must have done on his test subjects. To him they were beginning to look like the bars of a prison, the same kind Edward was trapped behind at that very moment. Jonathan wondered how helpless and vulnerable that boy must feel now. All his power wrenched from his hands, leaving him abandoned in a steel and concrete cell.

"You know," Jervis said, setting up his seventeenth checkmate, "I heard the most interesting thing at Ganymede Club last night."

"I do not know how many times I have to tell you Jervis, I do not wish to hear of anything that transpires at that clubhouse of yours." The Ganymede Club was where the men and women in personal service of Gotham met for drinks and gossip about their employers. Jonathan trusted Jervis to drink within their company and held no concerns that a few cocktails might loosen his lips. In turn he refused to listen to any juicy insider information Jervis might have picked up about Gotham's upper crust. He did not want them to know about his private life, it only seemed fair that he would not play audience to any personal stories about them.

"It's nothing scandalous," said Jervis, "just part of a little conversation I had with Mr. Pennyworth. Do you know who he works for?"

"I do not know, nor do I care," Jonathan spat.

"Judge Bruce Wayne," Jervis continued, unmoved by Jonathan's clear disinterest, "and guess whose trial he will be overseeing tomorrow morning?" Jonathan's hand froze where it was gripped on his remaining bishop.

"Jervis," Jonathan sighed, "what part of washed hands and miserable affair did you not completely comprehend?"

"Listen, Jonathan," Jervis rose to fetch his tea pot and warm their cups, "my educational background made me an expert on the biological functions of the brain. I can name the different parts, what they do and how various electrical impulses can manipulate them. I understand the tangible brain, but what I know about human thought I have only ever been able to glean from you. Do you remember the conversations we had after I," Jervis became quiet, his grey eyes distant and misty, "after the situation with Alice?"

"Once I got you to stop sobbing uncontrollably I told you that you needed to find some sort of closure to the situation, reinvest your emotions elsewhere and move on," Jonathan said briskly.

"Exactly, and though I do not know the nature of your relationship with this Edward-"

"There is no relationship," Jonathan cut Jervis off with much fervor, "and I do not appreciate the implication that here ever was!"

"I'm not implying anything, just simply acknowledging that this whole episode has affected you in a very peculiar way. It's not the rain that's hurting you Jonathan," Jervis set the tea pot aside to place each of his hands on Jonathan's bony shoulders, "I think you deserve better closure then getting drunk alone in a bar and spending the night clinging to a toilet for dear life. Perhaps seeing him have to face the realities of his crimes against decent society will help you put to rest the anger you feel about his crimes against you."

"Bless Jervis," Jonathan whispered, "that was quite insightful."

"I've been known to be useful from time to time."

"Well then, go make yourself useful and telephone the university with the news that my classes will be cancelled tomorrow."

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The courtroom was electric, so alive and well aware of the important events that it hosted. Jonathan took a seat in the very back row, careful to angle himself just so with the other spectators that even his conspicuous appearance would not be noticed. He had not come to gloat, point a finger and cry out 'Ah-hah!' when all was said and done.

He just wanted to watch the boy squirm uncomfortably until the damning verdict was read and he could go home and celebrate with a _copita_ of fine sherry wine.

"All rise!" The court officer demanded and to whom the audience complied. Jonathan cursed under his breath as he tried to steady himself on his walking stick. "The honorable Judge Wayne presiding in the case of the city of Gotham vs. Edward Nashton Nygma."

"Please be seated," Bruce Wayne spoke with a calm yet commanding voice. "Bailiff, bring in the accused."

For a moment Jonathan wondered if this were the trial of another Edward Nashton Nygma (Mercy, what kind of middle name was Nashton anyway?). The boy they brought out bore no resemblance to the handsome, dynamic creature he had unfortunately become so familiar with. He had the same jet black hair but it just hung in his pale face in lifeless strands. There was a mealy look to him, like someone who had never seen the sun, had a drink of fresh water or eaten enough to have ever been satisfied. The guards kept his hands cuffed and Jonathan wondered what on earth they thought a defeated child like Edward could possibly do to them.

"How does the defendant plea?" Asked Judge Wayne. Jonathan could see Edward's head tilt ever so slightly, seeming to him that the boy was trying to steal a small glance from the frightful looking district attorney.

"The defendant pleads guilty." Whispered voices filled the courtroom and were quickly silenced as DA Dent stood and slammed his fist on the table before him.

"You can't do that!" He cried.

"Mr. Dent!" Judge Wayne banged his gavel, sounding genuinely horrified with the prosecutor's reaction, "Please, control yourself!" Dent said nothing as he lowered himself back into his seat. His strange eyes though were glued to Edward as if the boy were seconds away from just evaporating into thin air.

"Mr. Nygma," Judge Wayne turned to Edward, "I know for a fact the district attorney's office has been working quite hard to build a case against you. My assumption was, despite having been in the custody of the GCPD all this time you were working on a comparable defense."

"Honorable Judge Wayne, the truth is there is nothing to defend. I am guilty of the crimes that have brought me here before you today. I am self-employed in the world's oldest profession, I have been so for the last three years and if our dear, crafty district attorney Dent had not launched a full investigation into my life with my subsequent apprehension I would be out on a street corner this very moment hocking my wares." Where his appearance lacked Edward made up for in his voice. Poised, melodious, the kind that made one stop and take notice. It was the same voice he had used that chilly morning in the fountain to command a crowd of students, the same that had left Jonathan speechless in his own lecture hall with the accusation of his accent. Jonathan could not explain it but at the sound he felt something within him akin to a swell of pride for the boy.

"So, then it really all comes down to a question of appropriate punishment," said Judge Wayne. "Mr. Dent, you have proposed the maximum sentence for this crime which is two years in Blackgate penitentiary, correct?"

"That is correct, your Honor," Harvey got back on his feet.

"In order for me to consider that I will need you to bring out your witnesses so we might have some insight into the nature of Mr. Nygma's crimes."

"That won't be necessary," Edward said quite coolly, "there's no need to pollute your court room with the vulgar details of my work. I may not know what aspect of my crimes the DA wants to parade out before you but I'm certain whatever it is it's not fit for the civilized spectators who have joined us here today."

"I'm sorry Mr. Nygma," and Judge Wayne did appear genuinely sorry, "but since the DA is seeking the maximum sentence I will need to observe some sort of evidence as to why they want the full two years."

"Why bother?" Edward laughed, "Just go ahead and give me the two years! I don't mind."

"You don't mind?" Asked Judge Wayne, seemingly unaware of the new wave of shocked whispers echoing through the courtroom. "Are you telling me that without any sort of proper trial you want me to go forward and sentence you to two years in Backgate?"

"Truth be told Judge Wayne, I am actually quite embarrassed about my behavior. Having to listen to witnesses, of whom I assume are previous customers of mine, will do nothing more than further humiliate me," Edward looked over once more to DA Dent. "I'm sure it is not the intent of the district attorney's office to turn this trial into some shameful exhibition at the expense of my dignity."

"Of course not!" Dent said quickly, "Judge Wayne, please, the prosecution wishes to continue with the trial." Judge Wayne did not respond to this. He seemed to be in deep thought, his hazel eyes looking nowhere specifically as he tapped his cleft in time with the clock above him on the wall. The whole court was able to count out the sixty-five seconds that passed before he spoke again.

"You're a very intelligent young man, Mr. Nygma."

"Thank you, your honor." Jonathan rolled his eyes.

"You could be excelling at the university right now, perhaps already graduated and working for a reputable business, helping build a stronger economy for our fair city. But instead you have been brought before me as a criminal and not just any sort of criminal. You're not an embezzler or a con artist or head of crime syndicate. You're not anything that requires you to use your intellectual prowess. No, Mr. Nygma, instead you have come before me as a whore." Edward was clearly taken aback by the judge's choice of words. "I do not understand it."

"You don't need to understand it," Edward said simply, "just give me my two years and I'll be out of your hair."

"And that's another thing!" Cried Judge Wayne, "On top of being brought up on these disgraceful charges, not only have you pleaded guilty but asked me to give you the maximum sentence. I am torn between pity and outright confusion, Mr. Nygma, but just the same I must render a verdict. Mr. Dent," Judge Wayne looked to the DA, "I am declining your offer."

"What?" Dent blurted out.

"Really?" Asked Edward.

"I should have seen this coming," Jonathan grumbled to himself.

"Mr. Nygma, I believe you have to potential to reform. To one day be a productive member of our society and to make this lifestyle of which you've expressed feelings of humiliation over a thing of the past." Judge Wayne banged his gavel. "I am sentencing you to a psychological evaluation at Arkham Asylum under Dr. Hugo Strange till such a time he feels you are fit for release!"

"You're gonna send me to the bobby hatch?" Edward cried. "No offense Judge Wayne, but are you nuts?"

"Bruce!" Harvey ran to the judge's bench, "This is not at all what we discussed! I just wanted two years in Blackgate, not a lifetime in the loony bin!"

"I trust in Dr. Strange's ability to treat the boy," Judge Wayne said calmly, "after listening to the young man talk, I-"

"Excuse me!" All commotion came to a standstill at the sight of a red headed man hobbling down the middle aisle with a walking stick.


	9. It's A Sin To Tell A Lie

I'm well aware of how contrived this all is. But that's just the magic of fanfiction.

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Arkham Asylum, Jonathan knew the inside of its walls better than he liked to admit. The memories of his eighteen month residency in that museum of medieval medical practices would still sometimes come to Jonathan during his self-testing sessions. Images of skeletal men and woman clawing their way out from the shadows, shrieking in pain only to be beaten into bloody piles by faceless guards. Often a phantosmia of sweat and urine would accompany the visual hallucinations as well as temporary delusional parasitosis which would cause Jonathan to madly scratch at his skin until his sanity resumed at daybreak.

Jonathan felt his senses leave at Judge Wayne's sentencing. Edward was many things, but mad enough to warrant a one way ticket to that living hell was not one of them. It would literally devour him whole. Crush his bones, drain his spirit, steal his breath and in the end all there would be is a wasted corpse dropped into an unmarked grave, it's face twisted up for all eternity in one last frozen scream.

He thought of Edward's face in the wavering candlelight light of their so-called date. That easy smile, those shining green eyes so full of life and wonder even while discussing the ills he had suffered. Jonathan could not let Arkham snuff out that boy's light, not if he had anything to do with it.

"Excuse me!" The effort he exerted to push himself up nearly toppled him but Jonathan was quick to parlay it into the needed momentum to move him towards the judge's bench.

"Excuse you indeed!" Bellowed Dent, "Who the hell are you and by what authority do you interrupt this trial?" Jonathan did not respond, his brain had barely even registered what the district attorney was saying. The man had failed to do his job, leaving Jonathan to clean up the mess. Incompetence was quite easily Jonathan's least favorite human flaw.

"Judge Wayne," Jonathan looked directly into the eyes of the man he was addressing, ignoring the clear confusion they were expressing, "My name is Professor Jonathan Crane, I teach psychological studies at Gotham University."

"Are you a, uh," Judge Wayne hemmed, "a character witness for Mr. Nygma?" Jonathan realized he must have looked a sight, making a plea before a judge in his worn day-off cardigan, the red and black sweater vest Harleen had knitted for him with the lopsided argyle print and a porkpie hat whose retirement Jervis had been advocating for quite some time.

"I would like to be, if it pleases the court."

"It does not," said Dent.

"I will make that decision," Judge Wayne gave Dent a warning glare. "Professor Crane, do you have a previous relationship with Mr. Nygma? A student teacher relationship, I mean," he quickly corrected.

"More like doctor patient." Jonathan's words were effortlessly believable. Even Edward, who had rooted out the great lie of the professor's hated accent, almost found himself accepting this false redefining of their relationship as fact. "About two weeks ago, I encountered a distressed Mr. Nygma at the university. He appeared, as I observed it, to be suffering some sort of existential crisis."

"In English, if you would please Professor," said Judge Wayne.

"My apologies. Mr. Nygma expressed to me great feelings of hopelessness over his," Jonathan paused, "occupational situation. He was anxious for escape from his life of debauchery but felt that there were no options to do so. Going to the police would only result in arrest so he decided to see if the university could help him find a new life path. After Mr. Nygma explained his wretched situation to me I promised to not only help him turn his life around but also offered my services as a trained psychologist pro bono." Judge Wayne folded his arms before him and leaned in over the bench.

"And in the little time you've spent with Mr. Nygma, what have you assessed about his mental state?"

Jonathan sighed as he glanced over to Edward. The boy looked at Jonathan for what he was: a lifeline, and his very last at that. Edward clearly understood how grim his position was.

"Mr. Nygma does have some concerning issues. Patient doctor confidentiality prohibits me from elaborating further but we have had a few discussions involving his home life as a child and I feel there is a strong correlation between his current behaviors and the dysfunctional relationship he shared with his father."

"A prostitute with an unhealthy relationship with their father?" Dent chuckled, "I would hardly call that a startling revelation, Professor."

"That's more or less my point," Jonathan snapped at the DA, "his mental crisis is nothing so drastic it would warrant placement in an insane asylum. I personally feel that with a bit of guidance, a few weekly therapy sessions and, obviously, a career change that Mr. Nygma could quite easily be the productive member of society you wish him to be."

"How would you feel about me sending Mr. Nygma to Blackgate?" Asked Judge Wayne.

"I am only concerned that he stay out of Arkham," Jonathan said plainly, "from a professional standpoint I can see no gain in that course of action." Again, Judge Wayne became silent in thought. His eyes drifted between the professor and prostitute and for a moment Jonathan wondered if perhaps Judge Wayne was suspicious of their relationship. The last thing he needed then with his body being so stiff and weak was to be labeled a john and tossed into a freezing cold cell. It would serve him right though, letting himself once again get entangled in the affairs of Edward Nygma. Some dark part of Jonathan wondered if the two of them managed to escape this episode that they would forever be doomed to loop in and out of each other's lives, their existences crossing over every few years or so in some disastrous eclipse.

"Professor Crane," Judge Wayne said slowly, "I knew that name sounded familiar. My young ward attends your survey psychology class; Dick Grayson. Perhaps you know him?" Edward noticed a slight falter in Jonathan's grip on his walking stick. The stern expression he always wore was trying to force itself into a broad smile. It was not a pretty thing to watch.

"Know him? He's one of my top students, a very intelligent young man. I did not realize that he was in your charge."

"I took him in when he was eleven years old," said Judge Wayne, "his parents, like my own, were murdered in cold blood before his very eyes. With nowhere to go I opened up my home and raised him to be the fine young man he is today." It would have been impossible for Jonathan not to recall the night he found the boy with illegal narcotics in a bar bathroom.

"You must be so proud."

"I am," Judge Wayne took in a deep breath, "you know, one of the programs I have established seeks to find homes and safe places for young children who have been the victims of crime. I'm sure you would agree that the best way to help those at risk is to catch them early before they end up like Mr. Nygma here."

"Almost certainly early intervention is key," said Jonathan. He often wondered what sort of man he would have grown to be had his mother decided to take him with her when she fled Alma. There was little doubt in Jonathan's mind that he would have fared better with his unwed, teenage mother then those harpies whom he was forced to call Granny and Great-Gran.

"I am wondering if there's still time for an intervention on Mr. Nygma's life," Judge Wayne leaned back in his chair, once more moving his intense gaze along the invisible line between Edward and Jonathan. It were almost as if he believed the answer to problem brought before him was hiding within that space. "Mr. Nygma, please stand for resentencing," he said finally. The cuffs that still bound Edward's wrist rang as he moved to his feet. "Thanks to the insight of Professor Crane I have decided to lessen the severity of your sentence."

"Thank you, your honor," Edward sounded as if he were about to break down. He looked to Jonathan with wide, dewy eyes, "Thank you, Professor."

"Instead you will be committed to the custody of Professor Jonathan Crane for a term no less than six months." Dead silence filled the court room.

"What do you mean," Jonathan broke it with a hushed voice, 'committed to custody?"

"Meaning you are now in charge of Mr. Nygma's welfare," Judge Wayne said quite matter-of-factly. "When six months have passed he will be brought back here and you will give me a full report of his progress, at which point I will either drop his charges and allow his release back into society or, in the event of an unfavorable report, send him to Blackgate for eighteen more months."

"A full report?" Jonathan spat, "Am I to understand that you have drafted me as this young man's guardian as well as personal psychologist?"

"You told me you were already seeing him as a patient."

"Well, yes, I did say that but, that was at the university and," Jonathan gasped, "my God, you expect him to live with me in my home, don't you?"

"That is the idea," said Judge Wayne, "as a college professor I assume you can offer an excellent example to Mr. Nygma as to how a clean, decent and respectable person governs their life."

"This is madness!" Harvey Dent cried, "We cannot go around delegating the responsibility of rehabilitating criminals to," he looked Jonathan up and down with a sneer, "average citizens."

"Damnation! If you had done your job half way right none of us would even be in the position we are in now!"

"I was doing just fine until he," Harvey blindly threw an arm at Edward's general direction, "opened his mouth!"

"My point exactly!" Jonathan barked back, taking a few wobbling steps towards the DA, "If you knew _anything _about the boy you were prosecuting you would know that only misery and misfortune follows any time he opens his mouth. He's a literal Pandora's box and damn you for allowing him to release his evils!" The heavy banging of the gavel echoed through the courtroom.

"Enough!" Shouted Judge Wayne, "Professor Crane, I have made my decision. If you do not wish to accept it and help Mr. Nygma then I will reinstate my original sentence and have Dr. Strange over at Arkham take care of him."

"No," Edward mewled from behind Jonathan, "please, Professor. You gotta help me, please. Don't let him send me to the nut house, I'll never get out. Nobody ever gets out of Arkham." Nobody ever did. Why Judge Wayne put so much faith in that failed institution Jonathan could not understand. There was a certain childlike innocence to Judge Wayne, a trusting nature that seemed so unsuited for a man with his past. It would have been admirable if it had not put Jonathan in such a terrible position.

"Professor Crane, will you or will you not accept my decision?"

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The front door of apartment one slammed and rattled a few of the glass shades on the wall sconces. An awkward mix of two tired legs trying to move with a third false one could be heard in the living room. Jervis made sure the sherry and the drinking glasses were all aesthetically arranged on the serving tray before bringing it out to be enjoyed.

"Jonathan, I was expecting you back a little bit sooner, but-"

"Jervis!" Jonathan cried, not even bothering to turn and look at the man, "The next time you have an insightful idea, keep it to yourself!"

"I'm guessing the wine then is not appreciated?"

"Wine?" At this Jonathan advanced upon Jervis to look over the lovingly staged tray in his arms, "I was half expecting to come home and have you offer me some rusty nails and a mallet so I might hammer them into my eyes!"

"Are you going to explain to me as to why you're in such a state or just continue on in his unflattering way?"

"No," Jonathan grabbed the sherry bottle of the tray, "what is going to happen I am going to take this to my room and barricade the door. You are going to go into the spare room and dress the bed there because around, I believe the judge said eight, we are going to be expecting a very lovely guest from the central police station lock up!"


	10. I've Got You Under My Skin

Jervis did exactly as he was told. Life was easier that way. It mattered little that he did not understand why Jonathan was so mad or why he had commanded Jervis to dress the filthy old bed that had been sitting unused since before Jonathan took residency in the bottom floor duplex. It was best not to argue and make things worse. Soon enough the world would be back to normal, back to that quiet calm that Jervis held so dear. Everything is going to be fine, he kept telling himself, just do as you're told and everything will be fine.

Glass made contact with wood. Jervis turned to see Jonathan leaning against the doorway, his spindly fingers gripped around the half empty bottle of sherry that he had slammed down on the dresser.

"It seems sherry goes a long way in making a man civil," said Jonathan softly. "I want to apologize for my behavior. What happened this morning it…it was not your fault." He slid down into the little matchstick chair beside the door, a thin and brittle thing that always seemed to be on the verge of collapse. It complemented the professor's own frame quite well.

"Perhaps you'd like to elaborate?" Jonathan went over the events that had taken place at the courthouse, slowing at what seemed to be pivotal moments, as if trying to figure out where exactly the whole morning had turned so terribly wrong.

Through it all Jervis sat on the bed, a hand on one of Jonathan's jutting kneecap. The spare room was unfortunately small. Initially, neither Jervis nor Jonathan believed it to be a room at all. They had been using the space as a closet up until one spring morning when Jervis discovered a door that had been painted over, and upon inspection found it concealed an additional, even smaller room with a toilet.

"Based on its relative closeness to the butler's pantry, I'd dare say this room was built as a residence for the help. Don't worry," Jonathan had told Jervis's horrified expression, "I have no plans to move you in here. It is in no way fit for human habitation."

Jonathan began to loudly bemoan his situation, comparing himself to a bit unfairly many tragic figures of Greek mythology. Jervis understood that Jonathan was distressed, he himself was not pleased with the situation Judge Wayne had put them in. Nothing good seemed to come from Jonathan's previous encounters with Edward Nygma but still Jervis felt the professor was being somewhat overly dramatic. Housing an impish little trollop for half a year was hardly comparable to woes of Sisyphus, forced to push a heavy boulder uphill for all eternity as punishment for his misdeeds.

There was also some childish part of him that found Jonathan's predicament to be a little bit _funny._

"Jervis," Jonathan hissed between gritted teeth, "Jervis, are you _laughing _at me?"

"No, of course not, I would never, I," Jervis babbled through his snickering. Jonathan batted his friends hand away from his knee.

"Of course, leave it to you to find something humorous about this situation!"

"I'm so sorry Professor, but all with this talk of Icarus and Sisyphus and Creon you've made me realize your plight is much closer to the story of Pygmalion."

"How am I anything like Pygmalion? I did not create Edward, he is an invention of his own poor rearing. If anything I'd pay to have him turned to stone!"

"Not the _actual _Pygmalion, but rather a play I saw of the same title a few years ago," explained Jervis. "It was a about a linguistic professor and a poor flower girl. He makes a bet with a colonel that he could pass the uncouth girl off as a duchess at some sort at a garden party. You see, she spoke with this terrible cockney accent and the linguistics professor was convinced that as long as he could refine her speech then no one would suspect she was from a lower caste." For a moment Jonathan just stared at Jervis, his blue eyes squinted in a way that brought great definition to the crow's feet that stretched out from their corners.

"That has to be the most idiotic thing I have ever heard."

"But don't you see Professor?" Jervis clapped his hands excitedly, "It's like you are the, well, professor and this Edward is the cockney flower girl. I suppose that would make me the colonel. Do you think we ought to make a bet on how quickly you can cure him?"

"Are you ill? My life is not the stuff of fantasy! This situation is quite real, Jervis, and I am not the least bit entertained by it! But God forbid I expect you to understand the difference between reality and fiction!" Jonathan shot up angrily from the chair only to collapse a few steps later beside Jervis on the bed. "Flower girls and colonels and garden parties," he muttered under his breath, "you're a certifiable mad man Jervis Techt, make no mistake about that."

"I thought it was amusing." Jonathan removed his glasses and rubbed his free hand over his face. His body crumpled up into a hunched over pose as he released a long, sustained groan.

"In this play of yours," he then said, his voice barely above a whisper, "was the professor successful in his endeavor?"

"As I recall, he was able to convince the party guest that she was in fact some sort of royalty. Why?" Jonathan hummed and nodded.

"What happens to the girl in the end?"

"She leaves the professor and marries a nice rich boy. I think it was supposed to be a happy ending."

"Sounds like one to me," Jonathan said somewhat darkly before getting to his feet. Without an explanation Jonathan was out the door, making his way through the butler's pantry. After the shock of the suddenness of his departure passed Jervis quickly followed, anxious to find out what his friend was up to.

"Perhaps I have been looking at this all wrong," Jonathan did not glance up from the mess he was making over his desk. Tomes with tiny print and large illustrations of various flora were thrown open and laid overlapping one another. The piles of papers that the professor always kept so neatly stack stacked were now in scattered over every available surface. Jervis looked to the floor and saw the hollowed copy of _The Complete Tales Of Washington Irving_ lying with its secret contents exposed. "Jervis, you have given me hope for these next six months."

"I thought any sort of insight I had was unwelcome," said Jervis, collecting up the spilled vials and syringes.

"Must you take everything I say to heart?" Jonathan asked absently. "I'm just upset I did not think of this sooner."

"Dare I ask: what are you thinking, Professor?"

"I'm thinking big. The _taxus narcissia _is going to seem like mere child's play once I find this damn, this damn…," Jonathan trailed off as his searching intensified. Jervis felt his stomach sink.

"My God, you're not going to poison the boy? I mean, you're not planning to kill him this time, correct?" Jervis could not believe he had to ask this of his dearest friend, of the man who had time and time again come to his aid. Who had reeled him back to earth when his fanciful ideas took him too far, the man who saved him from the street and in turn saved his life. Jervis knew Jonathan could sometimes seem indifferent to the world and most of its human populace but never had Jervis believed that he would so coldly _kill _one of them.

"No, I am going to pass him off as a duchess." A fed up Jervis crossed the bedroom and ripped the book Jonathan was currently flipping through right out of his hands.

"For the sake of my sanity, will you attempt to make a little more sense?"

"Very simply, I am going to cure Edward Nygma of his affliction as I have been charged to do," Jonathan explained as if Jervis were a child. "The entire basis of my research was that fear controls everything we do. It's our most primal emotion, the fundamental fear of death alone plays more into our daily functions then any of us realize. If I can strip Edward of his veneer of arrogance and vanity, if I can find that one thing that haunts his dreams and watches him from the shadows and attack it head on then the boy will be putty in my hands. I will be able to do anything with him, including-"

"Making him into a duchess?" Jervis said hesitantly.

"And get him permanently out of my life. I can cure him of his lust. I've dedicated my entire life to the power of fear and now," Jonathan smiled, "I'm going to show the world what fear is capable of, or at least the board of directors."

"What do they have to do with this?"

"I have no doubt if I can bring them a legitimate case study on how my fear inducing toxins cured a boy who was doomed to be a career criminal they will give me a grant for further research!"

"Well," Jervis began but he did not know how to finish. Part of him felt a need to protest this plan, it was bad enough that Jonathan would use these dangerous chemicals on himself but the ethical implications of using an innocent boy as a guinea pig were almost impossible to conceive. Another part saw the situation as poetic justice, Edward had been the reason Jonathan lost his last chance at a grant. It was only fair that he sacrifice himself to a fraction of what Jonathan had suffered through all these years in an effort to try and get an appeal.

A much larger part of Jervis realized that after half a bottle of sherry Jonathan was probably going to need a nice hot pot of black tea to help him focus.

"I suppose it's better than life in Arkham," he said, heading for the kitchen.

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Come twilight pockets of lightening could be seen hopping through the clouds, the rolling of distant thunder never too far behind. Harvey Dent had been watching the slow storm move in over The Narrows from his office for almost two hours. In that time Gilda had been calling him non-stop, urging him to come home before the storm hit and they closed the train routes into the suburbs.

"It's been three days," she sobbed, "please, I don't want to spend another night alone." Harvey had promised his return that night. He was convinced that his case against Edward was a lock, that the boy's conviction was inevitable and after a few months in Blackgate he would be begging Harvey to make the arrangements for his release. Everything was going to fall into place and Harvey would finally have the world (and Edward) on a string.

"I'm sorry my love but this case I've been working on just got a bit more complicated. There's a third party involved now." Harvey knew these long excursions into the city were a risk, it was important for him to make a few appearances at his fiancé's side in order to fortify the wall between his two lives. But if he lost Edward, if he let the boy slip away then Gilda would be of no use. What good is a cover if there's nothing to cover up? It was indeed a delicate situation, one Harvey knew he had to put into the hands of fate.

Harvey's coin shot up from his hand and spun about beautifully, almost holding mid-air before falling back down into his waiting grip. Tails, he would return home to Gilda, let her make him a few cocktails and try to forget the whole fiasco. Heads, he would spend the night at the Joker's Wild trying to collect whatever information he could get on Professor Jonathan Crane. The man looked like a scarecrow that had leapt down from his post, Harvey had no doubt the queer doctor had more than enough skeletons in his closet to damn his character.

Harvey uncurled his fingers and beheld fate's decision.

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From the inside of the dark shop Jonathan could see two blue eyes looking back into his own in surprise.

"Professor?" Harleen asked in a shrill cry, "What are you doin' out in this kinda weather? It ain't no good for your arthritis, why didn't cha call? I was just about ta head out! Is somethin' the matta?"

"Perhaps we could play twenty questions inside your store?"

"Oh! Of course! Come on in!" It had been some time since Jonathan had come to the flower shop in the afterhours. The colorful plants were now all inky silhouettes against the grey curtains of rain covering all the windows. Jonathan decidedly liked Pretty Poison more after closing time.

"Come by to make up for last time you was here?" Harleen asked, grabbing Jonathan from behind in a bear hug. Having seen his cane though she tempered back her usual strength. "You was in 'n' out so fast, I ain't never seen you in such a rush!"

"Not the case I'm afraid," Jonathan said as gently as he could. His impromptu trip was already going to make him late for Edward's eight o'clock arrival. Now it was a matter of making it back to his home before Edward ate his poor valet alive.

"Is somethin' goin' on Professor? You's startin' to scare me a little these days."

"Scare you?" Jonathan turned. He knew the girl suffered from an acute case of Autophobia, her fear of being completely alone had kept her trapped for the majority of her academic career in a relationship with a dangerous man whose identity she would never reveal. At least once a week Harleen would show up to class with a black eye, bruises on her wrist or a slight limp. Each time Jonathan confronted her Harleen would break down, sobbing and hiccupping and begging him not to let her go back to that manic. But Jonathan had not been so strong.

Finally one night Harleen came to his home, trembling and somewhat disoriented, claiming that the man had tried to kill her. So afraid he would fail her again Jonathan brought Harley to Pamela.

"Just keep her safe," was the only instructions he gave and Pamela did just that. The two had shared in a secret world that had both intrigued Jonathan and filled him with a bitter jealousy. The two women he loved more then all others had between them created a place that he could never be part of. But Harleen had needed that. As desperately as Jonathan wanted to be the one to dry her big, blue eyes for good he learned to find peace knowing that the girl was happy and well protected with Pamela in the flower shop.

That all ended in a flurry of police sirens and officers. Pamela had not ceased her dealings with Bane and was eventually caught smuggling illegal contraband from South America. After a short trial she was pulled from Harleen's world with a twenty year sentence to Blackgate.

Harleen was deathly afraid that her dear professor would be next.

"You ain't been yourself and yer getting so thin," Harleen stroked Jonathan's cheek with the back of her hand, "you eatin' okay? What's ol' Jervis feedin' ya these days?" Jonathan took the girl's small hand and placed a kiss on the knuckles.

"I'm quite all right, little Harley Quinn. Just a bit busy, you know how it can be at the university." Harley was quite good at smiling for a lie. Jonathan hated to think that the merry expression she wore now was the same one she would show to her psychotic beau when he promised her that last night was a mistake and he was sorry and it would never happy again.

"So, which one of yer babies did ya come tah see?"

"If she's ready to see me," Jonathan took a deep breath, "the _Acacia Umbraticum_." A demonic smile curled Harleen's lips.

"Oh Professor, she's been ready for a long time."


	11. The Way You Look Tonight

There was a reprieve, a short break in the storm where the rain shifted to a fair mist and the lightening that had been touching ground returned to clouds as soundless flashes. Jonathan hurried home the best he could between his stiff legs and the disrupted trolley schedule, not wanting to get caught when the heavens would tear open once more and finish drowning all of Gotham.

"Enjoying the weather, Professor?" A woman's voice inquired once he reached the front steps of the duplex. Looking up, Jonathan saw Miss Kyle sitting on her covered balcony, a sleeping cat in her lap and a cigarette holder at her lips. "Thunder and lightning, it seems like your scene."

"Hardly," Jonathan raised his cane up for her to see. To this Miss Kyle slowly blinked her large blue eyes.

"I know that boy," she then said, "The one the police officers brought. I've seen him before."

"Have you?" Miss Kyle hummed a yes as she exhaled another cloud for the already filled sky.

"A little word of advice: some personal recreations require a bit more discretion than others."

"How dare you!" Jonathan shouted back with great indignation. "I will have you know that the young man you saw has legally been put in my care. I have been given the duty to cure him of his afflictions." His words though had no effect on Miss Kyle's smug smile.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Professor."

"I liked you more when we rarely spoke."

"Then go," Miss Kyle waved a dismissive hand, "go to your boy and _cure _him."

"Bitter little witch," Jonathan whispered as he made his way up the front steps.

Certain that Edward was the undocumented fifth horseman of the apocalypse Jonathan knew there would be nothing but anarchy upon entering his apartment. His mind conjured up unfavorable images of his furniture in flames, his oriental rugs in tatters and his valet cowering in the corner while Edward towered above him brandishing a fire poker.

When he entered to find the living room in once piece and Jervis sitting on sofa sipping tea with an open book Jonathan could do little more than stare in disbelief.

"Jonathan," Jervis beamed as he looked up from his reading, "I was wondering if you were ever going to make it back. Shall I fix you a cup? I've made chamomile with a bit of honey and lemon, it will warm you right up."

"Where is he?" Jonathan demanded.

"I presume the same place he's been for the last hour," Jervis pointed towards the kitchen.

"Do you have him locked up in there?"

"Heavens no," Jervis looked offended at the suggestion, "after the police officers had me sign some sort of release form he said he was tired so I brought him to the spare room. I've checked on him a few times now, he's just lying there in the bed, staring down the wall."

"That was it? No theatrics, no hysterical cries of injustice?"

"No," Jervis said after considering Jonathan's words, "he said he was tired and went to lie down. Do you want some milk with your tea?"

"This has to be some sort of trick," Jonathan muttered to himself as he removed his heavy coat, "that wretched boy is a snake and should not be underestimated."

"He looked like a very exhausted young man to me," sighed Jervis, "a young man who has probably long since fallen asleep. Come now," Jervis began to head for the kitchen, "let me make you a cup of tea and we'll leave any concerns about the boy for tomorrow."

"Excellent idea, fix up a cup with milk. That should help neutralize the bitter taste of the _Acacia Umbraticum._" Jervis paused.

"Are you seriously going to begin all this madness tonight? The boy has only gotten here and," he began to falter. There was no denying that Edward had made a mess of Jonathan's life and Jervis had conceded to the idea that his friend deserved some sort of restitution for the damage dealt. But when Edward arrived in his pathetic state, damp from the rain with dark circles under his eyes, his arms and legs fully restrained in shackles Jervis found himself lost in the same hopeless mix of emotions experienced that afternoon.

Jervis wished he could be like Jonathan, to see the world like a giant chess board; black and white with solid, unquestionable lines. To know without hesitation that Edward was evil and needed to be punished regardless of the condition of his arrival.

"I'll make a pot of peppermint tea," Jervis said wearily, "peppermint and milk, he won't taste a thing."

It would be nice to live in a world with a little less gray.

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The door of the spare room was wide open, the solid yellow light of the wall sconces pouring into the hallway. It occurred to Jonathan at this sight that the spare bedroom had no fireplace. The mattress had not been properly dressed as the only other bedding in the apartment was the linen cotton ones used in the summer time. Where Jervis and Jonathan's rooms were side by side, the spare room was at the far other end of the apartment tucked behind the butler's pantry.

Edward's room must have been the coldest place in Gotham City.

The only thing that had changed about the space since Jonathan's departure was the sight of Edward's form coiled up on the bed with his back to the door. There were no suitcases or trunks. Not even a wooden milk crate of worldly belongings like when Jervis came to live in apartment one.

"I expected to find my home being cluttered up with half the men's wear department of Schumacher's," said Jonathan. Edward did not stir. Upon closer inspection Jonathan noticed that Edward was not wearing one of his garish suits, rather a simple white dress shirt sans a tie with a pair of wrinkled khaki pants. It was an outfit quite decidedly not Edward Nygma. His hair was loose, looking somehow longer than when it was slicked back with heavy handfuls of pomade. The iconic Beaver Brand bowler was nowhere to be seen. "For goodness sakes, where is that ridiculous hat of yours?" Jonathan heard himself ask.

Edward began to laugh. Not his usual brash, obnoxious laugh that made one quick to feel self-conscious. It sounded much closer to a restrained sob trying to convince anyone listening otherwise.

"It's gone," Edward said bleakly, wrapping his arms tightly around his body, "it's all gone. He took it all away, I have…nothing left to…," his words slowly trailed off.

"What do you mean 'he'?" Jonathan closed the bedroom door as he eased himself down into the matchstick chair. "I seriously doubt Judge Wayne has the authority to confiscate your personal wear, even if it was paid for with illegally obtained funds. You must be allowed to dress yourself, especially considering the nature of your crimes." Edward shook his head.

"Never mind," he sighed, "you wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Would it matter if I did?" Jonathan asked glibly. The bed squeaked as Edward's frame slowly uncurled from the ball it was so tightly wound into. His legs swung over the side, his torso rested its weight on his rigid arms that were now planted on the edge of the bed. Jonathan found the boy almost unrecognizable with the seriousness of the expression on his face.

"I'm not a liar."

"I never said you were."

"You really want to know the truth about what happened this morning?"

"I was there, Edward, I saw the whole thing." Edward scoffed at this.

"You saw what _he_ wanted you to see."

"When you say 'he', who exactly are you talking about?" This question seemed to amuse Edward.

"Harvey Dent, who the hell else?"

"That misfortunate looking district attorney?"

"He was a client of mine," Edward said as he got to his feet, pacing the short length of the room, "in fact, he was probably my best. Harvey's the one who got me into the whole prostitution racket. He had hoped I would be his kept boy, but leave it to Harv to seriously underestimate my charms. The more and more popular I became the more and more effort he put into stealing me away." Edward let a pleased smile slip, the idea of being a prize among the most affluent men of Gotham seemed to bolster his already outrageous ego. "He was paying for my room at the Gotham Towers. Everything in it is now officially his property."

"Why did you not say anything about all this to the judge?"

"Because Judge Wayne is his best friend, that's why. I'd just look like some desperate fool if I made any sort of accusation. Why would Judge Wayne believe me? Believe some common," Edward's pacing slowed and eventually stilled, "…whore?"

"I do." The situation sounded absurd at best. Had Jonathan been a twenty-something novice once more he might have written Edward's tale as some sort of delusion of grandeur. As it was though he was old and bitter and a firm believer that the evils of the world truly outweighed the good, that corruption and greed ran rampant through the hearts of all men and a situation such as Edward's was probably a dime a dozen in the dark streets of Gotham.

"I'm so sorry for all of this," Edward looked as confused by the words he had spoken as Jonathan felt hearing them. Remorse, genuine remorse seemed quite foreign to him. "It's not at all what I had planned."

"Clearly your master plan was to get yourself sent to Blackgate for two years."

"I was going down no matter what I did. I figured I could at least try and keep my dignity and not give Harvey the satisfaction of being the one to send me away."

"And Judge Wayne putting you at the mercy of Dr. Strange never crossed your mind?"

"Apparently not," Edward said quietly, "I'd be in a padded cell right now if you hadn't come to my rescue."

"If I had not intervened I am certain one of the loyal members of your fan club would have aided you."

"Hardly!" Cried Edward. "Not one of my fair weather friends showed up today, not a one!" Edward paused, breathing heavy through his nose. "Not even Echo and Query, and I loved them as if they were sisters. The only people there were Harvey to humiliate and damn me," he turned to Jonathan, "and you to save me."

"Edward…," Jonathan did not like how the boy was looking at him. It was that same adoring gaze that had weighed on him that night under the mirrored ball, the one that made all of Edward's affections for Jonathan so painfully apparent.

"I'm sorry," another clumsy apology, "I know you did what you did today because you wanted to help, not because," Edward slowly sat himself back down on the bed, "you made it clear how you felt about me that night at Dukes."

"That night is of no consequence now," said Jonathan, trying his best to channel the calming doctor demeanor he had used while operating his private practice, "what is important is that six months from now we present a mentally sound Edward Nygma to Judge Wayne."

"I'll do anything, Professor," a new but still familiar look could be read in Edward's green eyes, "anything you ask. When Judge Wayne told me he was going to send me to Arkham…I just…I…," he began to pathetically stutter, struggling to keep himself from becoming undone.

"You were afraid," Jonathan's voice came in a low purr. Edward nodded, "Arkham _frightens_ you, doesn't it?"

"I've heard about the things they do to patients there. They'll pump you full of drugs, turn you into a mindless, drooling zombie and lock in a room for days with no food or water. And if that doesn't cure you then…then…" The boy looked like he was going to be sick.

"What do they _do_?"

"I heard if you're real bad that they crack open your skull and scoop out your brains. They'll literally take your mind away. That's just a rumor though, right professor?" Edward asked, attempting a laugh and a smile, "I mean, they can't really do that to someone, can they?"

"Not quite. The procedure you're thinking of it called a lobotomy. The doctor enters the cranial cavity through the nose or the inner canthus with an icepick-like tool and severs the connection -"

"Stop!" Edward threw himself onto Jonathan's lap, shamelessly burying his teary face in the professor's pin cord pants. "Please, stop! I don't want to hear anymore!"

"None of this is surprising," Jonathan petted Edward's soft, damp hair and the hot spot on the back of his neck with mock tenderness, "I sensed early on you suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder, which is directly tied to an anxiety over losing control. No doubt in Blackgate you would be forced to forfeit some basic liberties but you recognize that upon entering Arkham you would lose complete cognitive control, something you, Edward Nygma value above all things. Arkham is a symbol of your deepest fear."

"How could anyone not be afraid of that?" Edward sniffled, "To have someone take away all your thoughts, your memories. To erase everything you are?" He looked up at Jonathan, his cheeks flushed and wet with tears. Raw, broken and, for the first time in Jonathan's eyes, beautiful. Jonathan felt a chill trying to imagine how Edward's face would twist up under the influence of the _Acacia Umbracticum_.

"It would be a terrible fate, but you have let your fear consume you. I wonder what other fears you have allowed to dictate your life."

"Please, help me Professor," Edward laid his head back down on Jonathan's lap, "I don't want to end up in Arkham."

"Then let the good doctor do his work…"

Thunder roared in the distance.

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Edward drank his tea as instructed.

"It will help you sleep. When you're feeling better then you and I shall begin down the healing path."

"Oh Professor," Edward said between sips with wide, trusting eyes, "I'm already feeling much better."

"Go to sleep, Edward."

Jervis watched it all from the midnight shadowed butler's pantry.

"He will sleep tonight," Jonathan explained later in the kitchen while Jervis tidied up, "any attempt to wake him will be a waste. At the twenty four hour mark his skin will become flushed as Edward will develop a slight fever. Nothing serious but do try to keep him cool."

"And after that?" Jonathan was quiet. "Professor?"

"I honestly do not know. The drug will keep him quite incapacitated for at least three days. The _Acacia Umbraticum_ is the most powerful toxin I have ever worked with."

"It's not going to kill him, is it?"

"No," Jonathan said absently, "the boy will undoubtedly weather this storm." He pushed himself up from the kitchenette where he had been sitting. "I have a case study to begin and reports to grade. Could you possibly make me a pot of black tea?"

"Of course," Jervis obliged. Jonathan made some sort of noise of approval before ambling back to his room.

For a long while Jervis just stared out the small kitchen window above the sink where he was working, taking note of the ferocity of the storm and what it would mean to him and his weekly rug cleaning. It was easy to focus on the simple things, simple things fit into black and white categories with much less trouble than issues involving drugs and prostitutes and concerns over your friend's sanity.


	12. Where The Sun Never Shines

Thank you to the continued readers/reviewers. Unfortunately around mid-November the power-cord on my laptop suffered a boo-boo and died. Because of the time of year it literally took me weeks to get a new one and once it arrived the holidays were in full swing so I've just been between work and inebriation.

On top of that this chapter is just one of those important ones I needed to get _perfect_, but if I learned anything in college it's just to go with your gut instinct and not to second guess yourself or you'll end up tweaking and fine tuning till the end of days. Enjoy.

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Harvey hated Joker's Wild. It was a loud and tasteless mess filled with entitled brats made more insufferable with cheap booze and narcotics. Regrettably he knew such things as liquor and youth were the building blocks of a good flesh market and Harvey was willing to deal with the former to get the later. It had always though been so much easier in the past with Edward gripping his arm and whispering vodka scented obscenities in his ear. He could let himself become lost in the small space they shared as Edward's infectious laughter spun a gossamer veil that removed them both completely from the roar and ruckus of the nightclub.

Now, without Edward, Harvey was completely exposed to the madness of Joker's Wild. There was no filter, no way to dim the bright colors or soften the music of the brass band. To make matters worse Harvey would have to deal with the girls Edward so affectionately called his 'kittens' without him there to make sense of their slang talk. In Harvey's mind Echo and Query were the quintessence of everything he hated about the Joker's Wild. At the very least he knew they were quite rightfully fearful of him and Harvey did find some amusement to watching them squirm in his presence.

Harvey found the girls half lounging on a pair of settees in one of the private alcoves. With a curious mix of confidence and discretion Harvey approached them from behind, placing each of his hands on their heads, hands so large and broad his fingers could sweep the top of their ears and settle comfortably on their neatly plucked glabellas. Query could feel the cold touch of metal against her temple. So dedicated was Harvey to the lie of his love for Gilda that he chose to prematurely wear his wedding band as a woman wore an engagement ring before marriage.

"No making a scene, ladies," Harvey whispered. Both girls did as they were told, their bodies becoming tight and erect under his touch.

"You got some nerve coming up here," Echo hissed softly, "after what you did to our poor Eddie, everyone's been talking about it." To this Harvey just laughed. He released the girls from his grip and moved between them to settle across from where they continued to sit so prim and proper, as if afraid Harvey still possessed the ability to crush their skulls from where he sat.

"I suppose you do have to rely on baseless gossip as neither one of you could be bothered to see him this morning."

"Don't you use that tone with us," Echo's voice was quickly gaining courage. "I know you wanted to get Eddie all to yourself but getting him pinched and sent to the loony bin? Harvey Dent, you are lower than a snake's belly!"

"And look how upset you are about it; sitting here, idly chatting over cocktails. The news has devastated you, hasn't it?" Harvey snapped for one of the cocktail waitresses with their trays of champagne flutes, his mix-match eyes never wavering from Echo's visible shift from daring to shamed. "It doesn't matter anyway, your dear sweet Eddie is, for now, safe from the clutches of Arkham Asylum."

"What are you talking about?" Query finally made a soft entry into the conversation. Harvey leaned in close as a bubbling flute was set before him.

"Let me answer your question with a question: Who the hell is Professor Jonathan Crane?" The girls were silent, attempting to secretively exchange glances but too many heavy handed martinis had dulled their skills of subtlety.

"I don't understand what that egg head has to do with any of this," said Query.

"Well, if the local rumor mill could get its facts straight you would know that Judge Wayne made the professor Edward's keeper."

"He did what?" Echo cried.

"And what I need is for you two ding-bats to fill me in on every dirty detail about this professor character."

"We don't know anything about him," Echo said quickly.

"He told Judge Wayne he was Edward's doctor; that Edward came to the university seeking aid in a career change."

"Eddie ended up in the university because he was lost and drunk!" Query gave a shaky laugh, "Honest Injun!"

"And the professor?"

"That crumb bum kicked all three of us out and we haven't seen him since." Said Echo, "haven't even _talked_ about him."

"Why then did he interrupt the trial on Edward's behalf?"

"Don't know," Echo coolly shrugged.

"You ladies do realize what I do for a living, correct?" Harvey narrowed his yellowed eyes, "I can smell a lie before it's even uttered."

"We're not lying," said Query, "we don't know anything about that wrong number so stop puttin' the screws on!" Harvey leaned back in his chair, its black leather moaned with his every motion. From his suit pocket he pulled out an unusually large silver coin and began to calmly flip it in his hand. It was a scene not unfamiliar to the girls, Harvey's infamous coin was known for coming out without an explanation as to what the stakes of the game might be. Four perfect spins later Harvey caught the coin mid-air and flipped in over on his half-closed paw, keeping the final score unseen to its involuntary players.

Harvey looked up at the girls and smiled.

"Must be your lucky night," he almost laughed, "I'll be in touch." Harvey then inhaled the rest of his drank and bid Echo and Query a curt farewell before passing through them once more and disappearing into the crowd.

"Golly," Query cooed, "do you think it's true?"

"You tell me," Echo snapped back, "you're the one who told me about Edward's date with that red headed creeper. By the way, I'm the _only_ person you're going to tell that story to, ya got me?"

"You didn't hear me say anything to Dent, did ya?"

"And I better not. Bad enough that professor has Edward all to himself, but if ol' Two-Face there finds out that Edward is all dizzy for that egg head there could be some real trouble."

"What are we gonna do? Dent's just going to keep coming back and pump us for information. He knows we know something, he can smell a lie, remember?"

"Might be best if we made tracks till this all blows over," Echo said quietly, "for us and Eddie."

"Think he's gonna be okay with the professor?"

"I don't know, but there's no point in worrying about him now. Edward's made his bed, he's gonna have to sleep in it."

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Jonathan looked down at the boy that lay out in the bed before him. Jervis had tended to Edwards with exceptional care; neatly tucking the blankets around him, keeping a damp cloth in a twenty minute rotation upon his brow. The initial symptoms of the toxins had hit early, Edward's cheeks were a deep, feverish pink. In contrast, his once pouty lips were now pale and drawn, rapidly sucking in small bits of air that did not seem enough to sustain him.

"Did I miss anything while at class?"

"Very little."

"What happened here?" Jonathan tugged at the sleep shirt collar that sagged well enough to expose most of the hot flesh of Edward's chest. Clearly it was one from Jonathan's own possession.

"He did become, um, upset sometime before you came home," Jervis, who was sitting in the matchstick chair, spoke with all the empathy in the world for his little patient, "only slightly, but I was still forced to change the bedding and his clothes after he stilled."

"Oh really?" Jonathan smirked. He wished deeply that the boy was awake and aware, what Jonathan would give to see the look of humiliation on Edward's proud peacocks face when told his clothes had been taken because he had wet himself and that he had to redressed like a helpless infant.

"How much," Jervis's voice quivered, "how much worse is he going to get?"

"I cannot say," Jonathan patted the collar corner back down and ghosted his long fingers almost lovingly over Edward's flushed cheeks, "but he is going to get worse, make no mistake about that."

"I know you told me already that it's not going to kill him, but," a soft sniffle could be heard and Jonathan slowly craned his long neck to meet the sound of it. The look on Jervis's face was one wholly unfamiliar. He was already an unfortunate looking creature with his exaggerated overbite and nose that dominated most of his face. To see it express such sorrow and pity, Jervis had the appearance of a man who had been deflated like a hot air balloon.

Jonathan wondered if those sad eyes were the same that would watch over his own ill form when he took to his drugs, if that same face haunted the halls through nights of nervous pacing.

"Mind him as you have been," Jonathan approached his friend, imparting a few small pats on his shoulder as if to be comforting. If anything, the hollow gesture seemed to drain the last of any hopethat had cautiously sparkled in Jervis's lidded gray-blue eyes. "I'll be working in my room if anything else should occur."

"Yes, professor."

As the weak light of the sky faded, so Edward's distress began to grow. Jonathan could hear him now from across the apartment, crying out half formed words in an attempt to command away the monsters in his mind. Only when the hysteria reached a fevered pitch would Jonathan walk his awkward walk to the tiny room to make observations on his patient, watching Jervis frantically try to calm the boy and wipe the sweat from his brow or the froth from his lips. Occasionally Jervis would shoot his friend a cold glare which Jonathan would promptly ignore as he returned to his room to jot down detailed notes of Edward's worsening condition.

And then came the screaming. In all his years studying and documenting fear Jonathan had never heard anything like it. The noise did not even sound _human_. Initially the sound of it gave Jonathan a sense of almost delirious accomplishment. He had completely destroyed Edward's precious little mind, turned the boy inside out. Jonathan was excited to see what sort of wretched creature would eventually be spit out at the end of this experiment…and what possibilities would lie within it.

But as twelve became one and one wore into two Jonathan's self-satisfaction began to wane. Jonathan cursed his age, his aching body. It was a hateful thing that made such unfair demands, like wanting to sleep though the apartment was filled now to the brim with the beautiful song of fear unleashed. The screaming was endless, Edward's voice sounded painfully hoarse and strained. He was, quite literally, a soul possessed and completely unable to control himself.

Even his thoughts were turning against him, reminding Jonathan of his dreaded classes only a few hours away.

"Damnation," Jonathan removed his glasses and rubbed his weary eyes.

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The sleep shirt was torn, there were scratch marks on Edward's face. The boy was not suffering from a long, sustained act of self-destruction, rather they would come it quick fits. Jonathan found himself impressed with the physical damage Edward had already inflicted on himself. If this kept up he certainly would have to instruct Jervis to restrain the boy.

"I was so afraid he had bitten through his tongue," Jervis spoke without looking up from where he sat beside Edward on the tiny bed, "there was blood on his teeth, and I…"

When he failed to explain what he meant, Jonathan barked out, "And why did you not get me?"

"I thought he was dying, bleeding internally…" Jervis continued on in the same weary tone, "I was trying to help him and…he had only chewed the inside of his cheek a little…I cleaned it up."

"Next time alert me to such happenings ! These sorts of things are important, Jervis. Mercy Christmas, you used to be a scientist! I should not have to explain that to you." This seemed to set something off in Jervis. He was on his feet, nose to nose with Jonathan with a red in his cheeks that could rival the feverish Edward.

"You're the one who did this to him! Who put him in this state! And through it all you have done nothing but sit callously in your ivory tower, indifferent to his cries! If this experiment was so important you would be here taking notes, but it's beneath you to actually be involved with your patient! To have to watch him suffer, to try and soothe his cries, wipe away the tears and the sweat and the blood and…and…," the tired Jervis began to slow, "It's beneath you to see your guinea pig as a real _person_!" Jonathan was at a loss, always had his clinical nature been praised by his peers. He never believed in coddling a patient, hugging them or spewing out platitudes such as 'Everything is going to be all right,' or 'The night is always darkest before the dawn,' or any other such nonsense. Jonathan was all about cutting to the core of the problem and mashing it out like a cigarette cherry.

But Jervis, with all his heart and misguided ideals, was never unable to consider the consequences of his actions. It was why he failed at the university, it was why he pursed that damnable Alice despite her engagement to another man. Yet still he blindly followed his emotions wherever they led.

The only wrong Jonathan could concede to in that moment was that he had expected Jervis to finally see the world as he did. He never should have put the sick Edward in his foolish valet's care.

"I've done all I can for him," Jervis shook his head, "I have nothing left to give. I know he is going to keep wailing like a banshee but…I need to try and sleep."

"As do I," said Jonathan, sounding offended that his needs had not been considered, "I have class in only a few short hours. I need you to try and keep him quiet so I might rest." For a moment Jervis just stared, expression blank and eyes lidded, seeming to look right through Jonathan. Beside him on the bed Edward continued to whimper and cry, twisting his long fingers into the bedding.

"You honestly want me to believe that you care one iota about your damn class?" He finally asked in a frightfully soft voice. "You don't care about anything, you haven't for a very long time…"

"What are you-"

"I am going to bed. What you're going to do is sit here and figure out what really matters to you, Jonathan Crane." Jervis sighed and looked up into his friends wide, confused eyes, "I do not want to lose you, you are the most dear person in the world to me, but I know I cannot save you from your demons. God help me, I have tried but the truth is only you hold the answers to the questions you ask, and I suggest you start looking for them now before your mind becomes lost forever." It was clear Jervis wanted to say more, that he wished his words to be more elegant and poignant but he could no longer fight off his fatigue. What little energy that remained he used on a weak smile and slow shuffle back to his room.

Jonathan stood dumbfounded as he listened to Jervis's door close. Outside the rain faded to a soft, almost inaudible drizzle though the roll of distant thunder could still be clearly heard.

And before him was Edward, almost unrecognizable in the narrow bed. His black hair was damp, fanned out over the pillow. Wild, unkempt, loose and free. Jonathan felt it suited the boy better than the sophisticated slicked back style Edward normally sported.

Through the soft mewling a word could be discerned: "No…" Jonathan's ears felt hot.

"Edward?" He was not sure the boy could hear him as he approached the bed, "Edward?"

"No…no, no, please…" For a moment Jonathan thought to fetch his notebook for the obvious breakthrough Edward was about to have but the muted patter of the rain was ripped apart by the most hellish scream. The sound of it disoriented Jonathan, his thoughts seemed to scatter as if frightened by the noise. All he knew was that it was, somehow, coming from Edward who was now undulating in the bed with deep arches of his back. Genuinely concerned that the boy may in fact harm himself Jonathan began to try and hold him still.

"No, please!" Edward wailed, his tightly wound eyes squeezing out a few hot tears, "No, no, I'll be good! Please, don't, I'll be such a good boy!" His words were desperate, his breath sharp and uneven. "Please, please stop!" Jonathan did not know where he had found such strength, somehow he managed to get the hysterical Edward pinned down to the bed. Edward though would not be subdued without a fight and continued to kick his legs and throw his head violently from side to side, hitting Jonathan in the face with his sweat drenched locks.

"Edward, you must calm yourself," Jonathan tried to keep his voice even, "you're going to hurt us both if you do not cease this flailing."

"No, no, no, no…"

"Yes," Jonathan hushed, "yes," he drew in a deep breath, "everything is going to be all right."

Edward broke into a sob. His body became boneless in Jonathan's arms. He's so afraid, Jonathan thought to himself, but the words echoed no malice, no sense of satisfaction. Slowly he moved a hand to reach push aside a few dark hairs that clung to the corners of Edward's wide and heaving lips. Edward was so unbelievably hot but Jonathan did not wish to put him down. Jervis's words tugged at his thoughts: only he had the answers to the questions. What answers? More importantly, what questions was he even asking anymore?

Carefully Jonathan laid Edward back down into the bed and replaced the damp cloth that had been sitting in a bowl upon the nightstand. It felt like hours, days as Jonathan moved in a perfectly timed rhythm of remoistening the cloth, touching it to Edward's head, dabbing at his cheeks and chest and returning it once more to the bowl. All the while just thinking of the chain of events that had led him to that moment, starting from his first experiments on the local bullies in Alma to pouring the _Acacia Umbraticum _into Edward's tea. Through it all there had only been one interest, one goal worth achieving: fear. That simple word was what made his heart beat and as he attempted to soothe the so troubled Edward Jonathan was only reminded of what he loved most about the subject. Few things did these days, though he had completely thrown himself into his work, literally, surrounding himself with nightmares Jonathan often found it hard to explain even to himself why he did. It felt much like an ostrich who'd had its head in the sand for too long. The ostrich had put it there for a reason and despite the fact it had grown accustomed to the darkness, fond of it even it would have been nice to remember what had driven it there in the first place.

And now Jonathan smiled as he remembered. As he watched the true power of fear unfold before him.

Fear was the great equalizer. Everything is removed its presence. Morals are compromised and alliances are denied. A strong willed youth is reduced to a quivering, whimpering child able to draw sympathy from a man who had long lost interest in humanity as a whole.

Jonathan remembered that Harleen had once mentioned that Pamela would sing to her when she was at her worse. No matter how shaken she was the sound of Pamela's voice softened in song would always calm her. He himself had not sung since he was forced to in church, even then he had never sang above a whisper. But it was worth a try. If he could just think of a song...

_The longest train I ever saw_

Jonathan began slowly and stopped abruptly when he realized that for all his classes he could not quite cover his accent when singing. But with Edward so delirious, what harm could there be in it now?

_The longest train I ever saw_

_Went down that ole Georgia line_

_The engine passed at six o'clock_

_The last cab went by at nine_

_In the pines, in the pines_

_Where the sun never shines _

_And you shiver when the cold wind blows_

Edward's soft cries fell mute, his face had ceased its painful twitches and he now lay still as one in slumber. And in that serene moment Jonathan remembered that it was a mere myth that ostrich stuck their heads in the ground and in the silence that had come after Edward's tapered whimpering he let out a long, miserable sigh.


	13. Sweet Leilani

"For the whole week?" Jervis was not so much questioning Jonathan's request rather exclaiming at its uncharacteristic nature. "Are you certain they will allow you to cancel that many classes?" He could not help but to wonder if his speech from the night before had some bearing on this decision. At the most, Jervis had hoped that a few honest words might force Jonathan to take a serious look at his position and convince his friend to show a little compassion towards the boy that had been assigned to him.

What Jervis had not anticipated was finding Jonathan's library stacked and shoved in organized chaos into the spare room with the professor himself sitting in the center of it all like the king of an academic empire upon one of the leather club chairs removed from his fireside.

"Until recently I have been nothing but dedicated to my wretched position in the science department. They know from the past few winters how poorly this type of weather treats my body. Make mention of some sort of mild pneumonia and I am certain all will be forgiven." Jonathan spoke in the same dreamy tone that Jervis had become familiar with from too many mornings of aiding the taller man's sobering from self-induced intoxications. His eyes were unwavering from Edward's form that still lay unconscious in the bed, so wholly unaware of the new effort that was being exhausted towards his recovery.

"I have to ask," Jervis tentatively began, "did something happen last night? Something…peculiar, after I went to bed?"

"No," said Jonathan, "why would you ask?" He turned with eyebrows sharply arched above his glasses. "You didn't _hear_ anything, did you?

"I didn't hear you do any of this," Jervis gestured to the stacks of books, "if that is what you are referring to." Jonathan moved his blue eyes suspiciously over his friend.

"I am certain you have a full day's worth of chores to tend to," he finally said, "I suggest you get to it."

"Excellent suggestion," Jervis made sure to close the door tightly behind him. Perhaps it was best he not know what had transpired; the ends were well enough that the means required no second thought.

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Anything worth noting was few and far apart. Jonathan mostly passed time in Edward's presence leafing through his old books, relearning the techniques he had once so actively employed. Too many years behind a podium repeating the same tired phrases had made Jonathan forgetful. He could talk all day behavioral development, how one devises a schedule for reinforcement or even the ins and outs of reading a patient's psychosexual tendencies but the words held such little meaning to him anymore. The science that he had once adored so deeply was now nothing but black squiggles on a page and his lot in life reduced to watering down these great theories to make them easier for his idiotic students to swallow.

So, there at Edward's beside Jonathan got to work to once more setting his passion aflame. When something did occur though he was quick to set aside any text book he was studying to make semi-legible notes for his experiment.

_March 15, 1936 11 am_

_The test subject's fever has finally broken. His breathing has slowed and the pace has remained quite even for many hours. Observing him, I have surmised that he has passed into some sort of comatose state. He still responds to outside stimuli such as sound and touch but only, as previously noted, as means to calm him. The subject does not respond to his name or any direction. I am curious how he interprets my interactions with him inside his mind._

_March 15, 1936 7 pm_

_A peculiar phenomenon is occurring. I have noted the subject's eyes half-opening on small occasions. They are however vacant and seemingly unseeing. The pupils are completely blown, the natural color of the subjects iris' is indeterminable. _

They're green, injected a small voice in the back on Jonathan's mind.

_They're gr_een Jonathan slowly scrawled the across page…and quickly scratched out.

_He_ _does move, stretching and so forth but I feel these actions are subconsciou_s. _He is as unaware of his body as he is of his surroundings._

The sight brought to light a memory long since passed. When Jonathan was all of seven years old in the first summer of the new century a cat had come to make a home in the cellar of the antebellum Keeny manor. All through the hot season the creature was rarely seen but often heard, moaning and crying from the dark corner it had claimed as its own. On the eve of his eight birthday Jonathan had ventured down to meet the noise as the cat sounded now as if it were dying only to find that she had given birth to a handsome litter of calico kittens.

For weeks all they were capable of was familiarizing themselves with their long limbs, testing the limits and blinking their wide green eyes at the new world. Jonathan had never seen a helpless creature before and he pitied the mewling little creatures deeply for their state. He knew that he himself had once been so small and needy but such a thing was hard to conceptualize. Jonathan, as far as he could recall at that time, had always been the self-sufficient loner and being as such took it upon himself to be the caretaker of the new mother and her brood.

Just as he had decided to do with Edward.

The small spot Jonathan's hardened heart had made for those kittens was filled once more with warm empathy for the pathetic Edward Nygma and his searching green eyes.

_ March 16, 1936 2 am _

_After almost an hour of incoherent mumbling the test subject has begun making words again. In earlier sessions I recorded him pleading 'no' to an unnamed assailant all while promising to behave. 'I'll be a good boy' was the specific phrase used. _

_Now, he is only crying out the word 'mother' as if he or she are lost._

"So, she was a mother. Fancy that," was all his Great-Gran had said, though the title did not hold for long. The mother cat eventually abandoned her children. Over time they grew as cruel as they did large, hissing and clawing at Jonathan when he came to visit them with bowls of milk and food.

And one fall morning they were gone, scattered out into the dark words that surrounded Alma.

In all his eight years Jonathan had never thought much of the truth of his life: that he was a motherless child, set adrift into a cruel world. His own mother was no better than that mangy stray and his life held no more promise than to run blind and angry away from his loathsome hometown. To grow up bitter and broken, lashing out with razor sharp claws at the people and things he irrationally feared.

Had Edward's mother left him as well? He had made mention of her that night at Duke's, Jonathan had completely forgotten about it until that very moment. Perhaps she had passed on when he was young, such incidents were known to exacerbate compulsive behaviors. Had he, like Jonathan in that long winter following the incident with the calicos, woken up cold and frightened wondering what he had done to send her away, to make her leave him all alone? Had he not been worth loving, had he not been a good boy?

_Good boy, _Jonathan looked to where he had previously written the phrase.

"Edward Nygma, what happened to you?"

_March 16, 1936 10 pm_

_It appears my calculations were off or the test subject possesses much more fortitude than I gave him credit for. It seems he-_

"Mercy!" Jonathan leapt forward in time, the wash bowl in hand, to catch the little water Edward began retching up. There was not much as it had been nearly impossible to feed anything to the incapacitated boy but what Jonathan had managed to get him to swallow was now coming up with dramatic heaves. Patiently Jonathan waited out the nasty scene, keeping the bowl steady and gently rubbing circles into Edward's back.

"P-professor?" The single word came so softly between Edwards mindless spitting that Jonathan almost missed them.

"Yes, it's me," Jonathan reached up with a dry towel and wiped away some of the sick from Edward's lips, "can you hear me?" Edward nodded.

"Wha-happan?" He began to cry.

"You fell ill," said Jonathan, "I suspect you caught something while in the county lock-up. You developed a terrible fever and began hallucinating; we were almost forced to take you to the hospital." Edward slowly sank back down into the pillows, seeming to not fully to comprehend what was being said to him.

"Hospital…," he sniffled, "fever…"

"Do not concern yourself with all that, the fever has long since broken and you should be your loquacious self once more." It was clear that Edward did not have the strength to carry on the conversation much further but the boy refused to quit. With just the softest whisper of lucidity in his eyes Edward looked up to Jonathan, slightly shaking his head as if already not believing his own words.

"Sing-ing?" He asked, "There was…someone…"

"No," Jonathan assured the gesture, "no, you were hallucinating, understand?" Edward's lips moved but nothing came and soon he faded into a gentle slumber.

Jonathan sneered at the bowl of sick in his hand and the now-damp towel in the other. At its worst it was all just a little regurgitated water and bile but Jonathan was a doctor of the mind not the body.

He was also a doctor who employed a very dedicated valet.

"Jervis! Come quickly, I have a task for you!"

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Candles upon the windowsill made stars of the raindrops that had settled upon the glass. Edward's eyes and mind could not make sense of the images they were receiving, yet, neither seemed to care. The mystery of this new celestial world did not distress him as he knew it ought to. There was a strange comfort in not truly knowing where he was, how he had gotten to this place was simply irrelevant. One sudden concern though did bob up in Edward's mind and weakly his body stirred beneath the heavy blankets to quell his worry.

Where was the professor?

He wanted, no, needed Jonathan near him. Needed to know his clean scent. Of Ivory soap and chemicals that certainly destroyed the tiniest microbe. Edward needed to know the unquestionable perfection that was Jonathan Crane through every sense. His hair like fire, his voice: long drawn and deep. His touch...

"I am here, child," Edward felt a hand on his forehead. Long, bony fingers pressed into his hairline. How strange it was that they seemed so thin and weak yet he felt such safety as they were placed upon him. "I am here."

"Professor," Edward rasped.

"You seem to be doing much better," said Jonathan, "at the very least it does not appear you are going to be sick all over yourself again." The memory of it was nothing more than a dream but Edward still felt himself shrink up a bit under the blankets at its notion.

"Sorry…"

"It's quite all right," Jonathan moved to seat himself in a dark leather chair surrounded by crashing waves of books. "I have been occupying myself with research while you were recuperating."

"Really?" Edward cooed. Not only had the profession being caring for him in the bed but he had also been working to cure his mind. Edward did not remember the last time he felt so truly important. "Oh, professor…"

"Hush!" Jonathan commanded, "You are not well enough yet for all this. There will be plenty of time for conversation when you are fully healed. It's best for you to rest up for another day." Edward wiggled beneath the blankets.

"But I'm not sleepy…"

"Like a petulant child," Jonathan rolled his eyes, "shall I have Jervis fetch you a glass of warm milk?" Edward shook his head. "Some tea?" Again, Edward declined the offer. "Mercy Christmas, what do you want then?"

"Would you read me a story?" Edward's voice squeaked.

"Read you a story?" Jonathan drew out the words, "Like fairy tales and nursery rhymes?" There was no response from Edward, just his wide smile peeking out from the brim of his blankets. "What makes you think I own such books?"

"Don'tcha_ know_ any?"

"No," said Jonathan, "I learned bible stories as a child and I have long since made myself forget those." Slowly, the smile faded and Edward made a resigning nod. Jonathan felt a sharp pain in his chest. Poor boy had been through so much and the months ahead of him would not be much easier. His mind was to be torn to ribbons and tied back together in neat little bows of sanity. At the very least Jonathan felt he could figure out one such silly tale he had heard in passing from his youth or from…

Jonathan let out a sigh.

"I shall return," he told Edward curtly and disappeared into the apartment.

Jervis was the keeper of all matters of whimsy. Aside from shelves filled with Mother Goose and Brother's Grimm every inch of his room was packed tightly with all the trappings of childhood; kites covered the ceiling, miniature tea sets sat party-ready on the side tables, porcelain dolls with their never blinking eyes cluttered a large buggy parked in the corner adjacent to a dark four poster bed that was far too large for the space.

Upon the bed, to Jonathan's great surprise, was the white bear Jonathan had received from the imposter delivery boy with new blue button eyes.

"Curiouser and curiouser…," Jonathan muttered to himself as he entered the space. Jervis had long fallen asleep in one of the puffy armchairs in the living room so Jonathan took his time perusing the various titles in the queer man's library.

"_Aesop's Fables_, _Arabian Nights_, _Wind In The Willows_…," Jonathan read out loud. So many of them he knew but was not familiar with. He felt a bit jealous that Jervis could have such a vast knowledge of the titans of children's classics yet in their presence he felt as small and overwhelmed as he had his first day as a student at Gotham University. Faced with world he did not understand yet yearned so deeply to be a part of. Perhaps this moment was his chance and not one to shy away from a challenge Jonathan selected what he assumed equated as the first step into a world that was denied to him as a boy.

"_The Complete Tales Of Mother Goose_," Jonathan proudly announced his selection as he sat back down in the leather club chair, "shall that suffice?" Edward nodded. "Excellent. Now, let's see here," Jonathan cleared his throat as he opened the book up to the first rhyme.

"_I know an old woman who lived in a shoe. _

_She had so many children, she didn't know what to do. _

_She gave them some broth but gave them no bread. _

_And she beat them and whipped them and put them to bed_."

Jonathan stared at the words he had read and glanced over to the accompanying picture. It was indeed a shoe with many windows filled with crying children and a troll of a woman wielding a wooden spoon as a weapon.

"That," he chuckled softly, "I must say, that is quite amusing."

"Do another," encouraged Edward. Jonathan did as he was told and flipped the page.

"_Away, birds, away!_

_Take a little and leave a little_

_ And do not come again;_

_For if you do,_

_I will shoot you through,_

___And there will be an end of you."_

There was a picture of a boy in tattered clothes against the backdrop of a cornfield and a clear blue sky. All around him swarmed great black masses, crow murders so great in number their defining lines were lost to the glossy blackness of their feathers. In his hands the boy held a sling shot tight, the little definition inked on his face daring the birds to swoop in once more.

Jonathan just stared at the scene.

"Professor?" Edward's voice called to him. Jonathan looked up and saw the boy's expression full of worry.

"Try to sleep, Edward," Jonathan told him in a calm voice, "go on, close your eyes."

It was not long before Edward was lost once more to deep unconsciousness. Jonathan though still read on through the many hundred rhymes, reading his favorites out loud several times in an attempt to commit them to memory.


	14. Alone

I went through my copy of Year One trying to find if Professor Pigeon had a first name but was not able to find anything. If I somehow missed it will someone please correct me? Thanks.

Again, I'm playing with history as Carl Roger's theories of directive and non-directive counseling were not published at this time. I'll probably do it again seeing as how in 1936 there weren't very many (good) theories published…

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_September 10__th__, 1908_

Early afternoon sunlight poured through the windows of the recently completed science building, over the black and white tiled floors that remained unscuffed and the cream color walls that still smelled of fresh paint. Alone, Professor Walter Pigeon walked the halls, making note of the wonderful newness of the building. He knew the grant from the Wayne Foundation that had paid for the construction had come as a distraction from the bad publicity the parent company had been receiving lately due to a back and forth with the USDA over a suspected 'mislabeling' of their products but Walter had promised himself he would not let such knowledge spoil his enjoyment of the new lecture hall.

Three hundred and fifty seats large with a mammoth fifteen foot chalk board it was easily the largest lecture hall on campus and the only other teacher Walter (currently) had to share it with Professor Van Dyke, the anatomy instructor. As he entered from his private door Walter's eyes were up, taking in the beautiful, sprawling sight of so many seats soon to be filled with eager minds. Three hundred and fifty he told himself as he looked over each other aisles, three hundred and…

Forty nine seats…

Dead center, in the very front row one seat was being occupied by the oddest looking young man Walter had ever laid his eyes on, so lean and pale Walter almost wondered if Van Dyke had propped up one of his cadavers in the chair as some sort of morbid prank (wouldn't be beyond the man!) He was well over six foot with hair that matched the leaves of the campus trees of who were all turning to match the season. His dress was quite plan, just a simple pair of black slacks and a faded gray union shirt. Much needed suspenders served as the only accessory.

The young man was deep into the book open before him, so much so he did not seem to notice Walter's entrance or sense the young professor's eyes upon him.

"What do you think you are doing?" Walter finally asked and the boy lifted his head. Freckles dappled his cheeks and perched upon a long, narrow nose was a pair of circular wire frame glasses that greatly magnified the boy's clear blue eyes.

"I am studying, sir," the young man spoke with a whispery voice and a thick, southern drawl that unnerved Walter as much as it surprised him.

"Well, I cannot have students loitering around empty lecture halls," Walter could hear his own voice tremble, "you must take your books to the library and study there."

"I would rather not, sir," those large blue eyes blinked almost as slowly as the boy spoke, "and excuse my discourtesy, but I do not see what harm I am causing studying psychology in the psychology lecture hall."

"How are you studying psychology? Today is the first day of class and said class does not begin," Walter checked his pocket watch, "does not begin for another thirty minutes."

"I have the book, sir," the boy said gently as if his professor were a simpleton, "I have had it for a week."

"But do you understand it? It is one thing to read words on a page it's another to grasp their meaning. That is why I am here, why the university is here, to help your mind fully comprehend the ideas that are being relayed to you." Again, the young man just stared at Walter from behind his ridiculous frames, his eyes now unblinking (like the wide, unwavering gaze of a cadaver) seeming almost to be sizing the professor up. Despite his apparent youth Walter got the eerie feeling that he was indeed in the presence of a dangerously brilliant mind, a mind that could find weakness in a few unconscious tells and break a man with a single word.

"I apologize, sir," said the young man, closing his book, "I seem to have upset you. I shall wait in the hall and return at the appointed time."

"That would be wise," Walter watched him climb the long stairway to the student entrance. "So I may know," he called out when the boy reached the top, "for when you do return, what is your name?" The young man turned and _almost _smiled.

"It's Jonathan, sir. Jonathan Crane."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Jonathan did as he said and passed through the doors of the lecture hall right at the first bell, this time opting for a seat in the very back. He never spoke, never even raised his hand with inquiries. As the weeks passed Walter forgot the strange red headed boy was even there.

That was until he began issuing test and essays.

"He never misses a single answer, not a one!" Walter declared to Van Dyke while the two were locking away the lecture hall for winter break, "and you should read the papers he's written for me. I could have them published in a medical journal. The boy's a wonder, a bona fide genius!"

"Thompson has him in his beginning chemistry class and he tells me the very same thing," said Van Dyke, "he's never had a freshman finish his entire course. I'm getting Mr. Crane in my survey class next semester, I'm quite anxious to see what he's capable of."

"Everything," said Walter with a deep sigh, "he's going to make a hell of a doctor someday."

"I don't deny it."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

A chilly mist began its descent as the colleagues parted ways with curt farewells near the campus fountain. Having forgotten his umbrella Walter decided to pull up his scarf and stay close to the sides of the buildings to gain what little protection the awnings had to offer.

There were few that still lingered at the university. Most of the staff and students had long gone to meet with family by warm hearths to hang their stockings and decorate their trees. To drink hot drinks laced with brandy and sing the songs of the season. Walter had never married, he had no children to speak of and what few relatives he did have existed now only in photographs and fading memories. When he arrived at his home he would find it empty, his small wait staff having departed to spend the end-of-the-year bonuses he had given them on making merry.

Walter tried to tell himself he did not mind being alone…

"Hayseed!" A young man's voice broke through the December gloom. Walter froze at the sound of it.

"Stupid country bumpkin!" Another voice.

"When we come back in two weeks we had better not be seeing your ugly face," and a third, "best you just get on your mule and head back to whatever backwater town you came from, Scarecrow." Walter followed the voices to the alleyway between the auditorium and the music department.

Three broad shouldered boys dressed in the schools letterman sweaters, one proudly sporting the stars that marked him as a team captain, were all circling like vultures upon a fallen frame. Through the mist-turned- downpour with a hand shielding his eyes Walter was able to make out the drab uniform his start student insisted upon wearing day in and out. Scattered around him in the forming puddles were his books and papers, all thoroughly ruined in the icy rain water.

Jonathan said something unheard as he pushed himself up on all fours but it was not well received.

"Shut your filthy mouth!" One of the assailants cried, sending his foot swiftly into Jonathan's rib cage and crippling the boy once more. "I don't want to hear it!"

"Stop!" Walter approached the awful scene, "What do you three think you are doing?" He kneeled down beside Jonathan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Crane, are you all right?" Jonathan said nothing, did not even look up and meet the eyes of the man who had come to rescue him.

"Just having a little friendly conversation," said the boy with the starry jacket, "but I think we've said everything we needed to. Guys?" Without a hint of remorse the other two attackers nodded in agreement and with that the group became ghost in the rain.

"Come on, they're gone now," Walter helped lift Jonathan back onto his feet.

"Thank you."

"For goodness sake, what on earth did you say or do to provoke that lot?" Jonathan shook his head.

"Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?" Walter cried, "I have never known you to be an instigator, Mr. Crane, but I'm hard pressed to believe they would attack you so cruelly without reason." Jonathan finally looked at his professor, his dewy eyes filled with confusion.

"Look at me," his words melted into the soft sound of rainfall.

"Mr. Crane…," Walter did as he was told and looked over Jonathan's lean structure, taking in all the odd features he had become familiar with and now attributed to the young man he had placed so much hope in. Even with all his adoration for Jonathan's brilliance Walter could not deny that the unsettling first impression the boy had made on that September morning still lingered in the back of his mind. Jonathan stuck out in the worst way imaginable; tall, ginger haired, freckled and gifted with frightful grey-blue eyes. "Oh, Jonathan…"

"Do not pity me," Jonathan forced a small smile against his red eyes. If he were crying the effort was lost to the rain. "I am quite used to it. I had hoped Gotham would be somewhat different from Alma…" Walter reached into his coat and pulled out a handkerchief to hand to Jonathan.

"You said something to that young man before he kicked you," he asked as Jonathan blew his nose,  
"what was it?"

"I had simply asked him to please let me be." Jonathan tried to give the soiled handkerchief back but Walter waved his hand away.

"Keep it."

"Thank you," Jonathan tucked it into his pants pocket. Holding out his now free hand Jonathan looked upon the small puddle forming in the basin of his palm as if he had only now realized that it was raining. "I should be going, this rain will turn to snow come night fall and I am not properly dressed." For a moment his eyes darted about the mess that had been made of his personal items before deciding that only the books might be salvageable. After collecting what he could Jonathan gave his professor a curt nod and imparted one last thanks before taking his turn to disappear into the twilight.

Walter felt himself unable to move, unable to breathe as his windpipe had been struck with a sudden, squeezing pain. A chill colder than the rain gnawed viciously at his bones. It was as if he were being attack from something unseen, something hidden deep within himself. Remembering that first morning; Jonathan alone in his lecture hall, so unwanting to leave to study in the library. Until that moment, cold and wet and alone in the center of the campus did Walter understand the depth of the situation.

From day one he must have been a target. The library, full of new students had probably begun threatening him the second he stepped through the doors. The frightened Jonathan had fled to the new and certainly empty lecture hall in an attempt to find solace…and Walter had just turned him away.

"Jonathan," What sort of sad excuse for a psychologist was he, unable to read the signs and note the cues? Why did he interoperate Jonathan's enthusiasm to learn as insubordination? How could have let himself grow so harsh and so cruel he could not recognize a stifled talent from the moment he encountered it?

"Jonathan," Walter called his name again but Jonathan did not respond. He just kept walking until he was nothing more than a shadow, a silhouette and finally nothing more than a name echoing through the campus.

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_March 17, 1936_

"Nearly three decades later and I still look back on that night and wonder if I should have invited the young Jonathan Crane home with me. In that moment I think I was the most connected I ever been with another person..." Walter set aside the small sepia photograph of Jonathan and himself well staged at Jonathan's first graduation ceremony in _1912_, the poor boy looking quite displeased over the gown that nowhere near fitted him.

"That's a lovely story, Professor, quite enjoyable but I must inquire about its purpose." Walter looked up to the infamous man sitting across his desk.

"Mr. Dent, you came here asking my opinion about my protégé in relation to his new wards recovery. The truth is that I have long accepted that something inside Jonathan is broken. I do not know when or how it happened but he does not relate to the world as a healthy person should. I don't deny at the trial you noted that Jonathan has a sort of," Walter hemmed, "unwavering sternness, I suppose you'd say."

"Aggressive is the word I would have used," Harvey gritted his teeth at the memory, being talked down to before Judge Wayne as if he were a child.

"Jonathan was not always that way. Deep inside him there is still that quiet country boy hiding behind his books. I see it when I look into his eyes sometimes, see that flicker of empathy."

"Trying to sell a prosecution lawyer on the idea that there is good in all men?"

"No," Walter said slowly, "if I am to be honest, as fond as I am of Jonathan there isn't really any _good _in him. But there is a heart that beats and a mind that tries it's best to interpret kindness. Are you familiar with his valet, Jervis Techt?"

"I did not realize Professor Crane had a valet," Harvey smiled. He had learned in the past how easily the loyalty of the help could be bought though most of them were willing to share their employer's dirty secrets without any compensation.

"Jervis had been a student here the same time as Jonathan, another bright young man but where Jonathan was successful in psychology and chemistry Jervis found his niche in anatomy and physics. He too was mercilessly harassed by some of the other students, though if I recall it mostly revolved around his ineptitude with women. The first time I ever heard Jonathan raise his voice was to defend that poor boy." Walter chuckled, "I remember the look of shock on those bully's faces," and shook his head. "The scarecrow had come to life."

"How did this Jervis end up in his employ?"

"Jervis had found a job here at the university alongside Jonathan but between his questionable flirting and the troubles with the economy he was terminated. Knowing his friend had nowhere else to go but the streets Jonathan took him in and gave him the job."

"I see," Harvey realized that this Jervis might not buckle at the flash of green.

"Do you remember Miss Pamela Isley?"

"Isley?" Harvey repeated the name, "It rings a bell but I cannot say where from."

"I suppose it has been a few years since her trial," Walter got to his feet and made for one of the many well organized book cases that lined his office. He perused the personal items, humming some undeterminable tune before bringing another framed photograph for Harvey to take.

"Though I don't know what good that may do for your memory, it was Pamela's gorgeous red hair that people always remember most." The photograph held three people; Jonathan in the center looking somewhat at ease in a handsome three piece suit that seemed well fitted to his unusual frame. There were considerably fewer wrinkles on his face and what looked like the faintest smile curling his lips. To his left was the woman that Harvey now recognized as Pamela Isley, her signature hair pinned up in large curls, seeming to defy gravity. To Jonathan's right was a doe-eyed girl with pigtails snaking out from beneath a coloche hat.

"She had been a red head, a real red head, with hair like the color of roses." Harvey spoke as his memory began to grow, "I did not try that case, Bruce Wayne did before his judgeship. I do remember the media circus it inspired though, drug trafficking is an unusual crime for a woman." Walter nodded.

"Pamela was another friend Jonathan had made here in school."

"Star student as well?"

"Her major was in botany and, yes, she excelled beautifully. It was somewhat disappointing that she chose to use her talents for running a floral boutique but from what I understand, until the arrest, she was quite successful." Walter eased himself back down in his desk chair. "Jonathan would never talk to me about it, probably because he never learned to turn his mind's eye on himself. I could tell though, the verdict had devastated him. He walked around here in a stupor for weeks afterwards, barely able to function."

"She was guilty though," Harvey said, not a hint of sympathy for either party of the dissolved friendship.

"I'm certain she was, in fact that may have been one of the things that hurt Jonathan so. But the other girl there," Walter pointed to the photograph Harvey still held, "that is Harleen Quinzel. She had been a close friend of Pamela's and a former student of Jonathan's. I know he still checks up on her from time to time where she maintains Pamela's flower shop. Treats her like he would his own daughter."

"You don't say," Harvey's blue and yellow eyes glanced back to the photo. His mind went through the short list of the close acquaintances Jonathan Crane kept: a closet pervert, a cunning criminal and a young shop girl. It was hard to see where the ill-tempered professor fit into the already mix-matched grouping, there had to be a larger connection beyond their shared history as students of Gotham University.

"There are two ways Jonathan interacts with the people of this world: one is the way you encountered with harsh words and snap insults. This is unfortunately how most of us here at the university know him. For those few select people, for those ones he deems worthy to enter his little world Jonathan will protect and care for them any way he can. If what you have told me is true and Jonathan accepted this Edward Nygma into his home in an attempt to save him from Arkham, well then," Walter nodded, "I'd say the boy is in the very best hands possible."

With half his face frozen in grimace it was often hard to read Harvey Dent's expression. Walter studied it the best he could but could not decipher the meaning of the subtle shifting of the features of his non-paralyzed side. When what one could guess was a smile finally appeared Harvey placed the photograph on to Walter's desk and moved to stand.

"Thank you for your time, Professor, you've been most helpful to me."

"Happy to be of service," Walter rose to meet him. The two men shook hands. "And please, let me assure you once more that Jonathan will do all in his power to help this wayward young man. I can guarantee it."

"Oh, I'm sure he will. And, by the way," Harvey leaned in close, "please, make no mention of my visit to Professor Crane. I would not want him to feel like that we at the District Attorney's office lack any faith in him or Judge Wayne's decision."

"Of course," and with that the strange encounter ended. It was not the first time someone had come to Walter questioning the sanity, sincerity and ethics of Professor Jonathan Crane and he was certain it would not be the last. If Jonathan had not been as talented as he was he certainly would have ended up side by side with Jervis on the streets years ago.

Walter picked up the discarded photograph and placed it back on its high spot on his bookshelf. He remembered the day it was taken, some beautiful mid-spring afternoon when the university had decided to throw a picnic in Robinson Park for its faculty members and their families. Jonathan had arrived with the two girls in tow, seeming to actually be excited for the day's events. Walter even remembered the man cheering quite enthusiastically for Jervis, who had entered in the rowing regatta across the lake.

With a sigh, Walter returned to his desk chair. There had once been, for the briefest window of time, happiness in Jonathan's life. Pamela was not a criminal, Harleen was his adoring prize student and Jervis was there to keep him company as they both moved through the halls filled with cruel stares. Jonathan had everything a man like him could want.

And then it all crashed.

There were no more sunny days after that; no more picnics or regattas or laughter. No more joy to be shared among his few but well-loved friends. Walter could feel it again, that coldness in his bones, that deep pity he felt for the misfortunate Jonathan Crane. Was it possible for him to ever find some small sliver of happiness again? Was he doomed to forever be that silhouette Walter saw all those years ago, walking alone, bruised and broken through the rain? These questions had weighed on Walter's heart for years but now he was presented with a new, highly curious one to keep him awake at night: Why was Jonathan interested in trying to save some lowly young prostitute?

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"Why do I have to be lying down for this?"

"I simply assumed being on your back was your default position and where you would be most at ease." Edward shot up from where he had been previously been supine on the spare bed to turn and meet Jonathan with a hurt expression.

"A little professionalism goes a long way you know!" He cried. For this though Jonathan offered only the smallest shrug of his shoulders before turning back to his notes.

"The idea is for you to remain relaxed during the sessions," he said simply, "so take a few deep breaths and try to clear your mind of any tension."

"I've been in this bed all damn week, I'd be more relaxed if I could get up and walk for a bit." Edward had only recently been able to amble around without any aid from Jonathan or Jervis. His head was finally clear of the toxin, continuous streams of fluids had reversed his dehydration and the slight atrophy of his legs had been corrected through long pacing sessions of the tiny room. "The only other room I've seen since I got here is that poor excuse of a bathroom. I'm your patient not your prisoner!"

"Edward," Jonathan removed his glasses as he rose to approach the bed. Gently he smoothed back the boy's hair that after a week without proper grooming was terribly mussed. "Lie down," he commanded. Edward looked warily at his keeper but did as he was told. "Now, breathe through your nose for seven counts, exhale through your mouth for eight. Go on, do as I say." Again, Edward obeyed and after observing a few deep breaths and their subsequent release Jonathan returned to his seat. "Feel better?"

"Yes," Edward said begrudgingly.

"Excellent," Jonathan returned his glasses to their perch, "let me first introduce you to the particular method I am planning to use for your recovery. It is somewhat difficult to break down therapeutic techniques into broad categories but when getting down to basics we have the directive and non-directive forms."

"I don't like the sound of either of those."

"Is there one that fills you less trepidation?" Edward hummed thoughtfully.

"Directive?"

"Well, dear child, you are quite fortunate as the directive is the form I am planning to utilize. In the non-directive form the patient choses the course of the sessions, generally speaking freely while the therapist interjects when they feel necessary."

"Wait," Edward began to rise again, "I think I chose wrong."

"I am afraid with our time restraint and you ego-driven, overly-talkative nature that the non-directive method would yield almost no useful results. The directive is used specifically to correct negative thought or action patterns in the patient through very controlled sessions and using a sort of reward-punishment system as to retrain the patients thinking process."

"So you're going to train me like a dog?" Once more Edward was upright, this time looking ready to dash out the bedroom door, never to return. Jonathan knew very well that Edward would not be caught dead in the ill-fitting loaner sleep shirt and bottoms he was still wearing or dare have anyone recognize him with anything but slicked back hair and his now forever-lost bowler. So he settled back in his chair, crossed his lengthy legs and simply commanded once more:

"Lie down." Where Edward had been agreeable the first time now looked at the demand as the insult it was. "I said lie down Edward and do your breathing exercises."

"No!" Edward realized he sounded much like a spoiled child but he did not care. He did not like this side of his professor, no, _the_ professor. There was nothing about him now to liken him the man who had patently sat at Edward's beside, reading nursing rhymes imparting comforting and encouraging words. Edward wanted nothing to do with this Professor Crane.

"I suggest you do as you're told or I shall be forced to-"

"No!" Edward cried again, this time crossing his arms in daring defiance. His personal revolution against the doctor though did not have the intended effect. From his chair Jonathan rose, collecting his notes and a few of the books that still sat in teetering stacks around him and made for the door.

"As I said Edward: reward and punishment. If you do not wish to comply with my chosen method then you shall receive no therapy at all. You will spend the next six months languishing in this little room until you are brought again before the judge with my recommendation of your commitment to Arkham." Edward's arms slowly became slack. "However, if you are a good boy and do everything I ask than you will, bit by bit, earn small freedoms: being able to roam around the apartment, chose your meals, perhaps even be allowed half hour evening strolls around the block unaccompanied. The choice is yours, dear Edward, I have nothing invested in your recovery." That of course was a lie, but Edward did not need to know about that.

The threat of Arkham had no doubt shaken him some but it was still clear by Edward's expression that he was not ready to give in to such humiliating treatment. His green eyes still remained narrow, his teeth gritted like a dog ready to strike.

"What are you thinking?" Jonathan asked with a soft chuckle. "Are you thinking of attacking me? Pushing the crippled old man down? Maybe even snapping my neck on the way out for good measure? Well," he took a step towards the bed, "do it then." Of course Edward physically did not move but that sweet, familiar look of fear was beginning to creep into his eyes.

Jonathan took another step.

"Tell me, Edward," his voice was barely a whisper now, his accent coming across clear as a bell, "do I look like I'm afraid of you," another step, "do I look like I'm afraid of anything at all?" A great, tooth bearing smile stretched from ear to ear and Edward became ghostly pale. "You are though, oh, yes you are. You're afraid of Arkham, I know that now. I know you're afraid of Harvey Dent and you know the second you step out of boundaries with me you will be right back in his clutches…and who knows what he will do this time to keep you from straying."

"S-stop it," Edward whimpered, "whatever this is, stop it…" The smile snapped shut. Jonathan became the melancholy man he always was but Edward knew now, he knew there was something sinister hiding behind those blue eyes. A darkness unnamed, a creature beyond imagination that he never wanted to meet again.

"We will try again tomorrow," Jonathan announced, turning back to the door as if nothing had occurred, "Jervis will deliver your dinner in an hour or so. Until then, practice your breathing exercises and get some rest." The door closed, the sound of many locks clicking into place could be heard.

Edward laid back down on the bed, legs curled up into his chest, now aware of the slight tremor coursing through his body. Quiet tears fell into dark pools upon the bedding.

Perhaps Arkham might have been the better choice…


	15. Did I Remember?

Spider legs crept over the ruins of the meal, selecting what they felt would be sustainable yet not wholly palatable feed for their helpless captive. They tip toed around the bowls of heavy sauces, paused for thought at the foot of the defeated mashed potato mountain and then, without warning, attacked the last remaining leg of the discarded bird carcass, ripping it from its joint. A horrible snap filled the kitchen as Jonathan quite unceremoniously removed the desired leg and dropped with a clatter upon the plate of other approved left overs for his valet to take to Edward.

"This shall suffice," Jonathan said with a triumphant huff. Jervis, who had been mesmerized by the arachnid like dexterity in which Jonathan's fingers had scurried about the half-eaten meal, could not help a small protest.

"There is only a mouthful of each dish I prepared, and the meat on the legs is always so dry and-oh-Jonathan, can't we spare the just a smidgen of jam for that biscuit?"

"The boy is in no danger of starvation," Jonathan rolled his eyes, "understand, this meager meal is meant to be an incentive to get him to comply with his much needed therapy." Jervis glanced to the spotty plate, back to Jonathan, to the plate and back to Jonathan once more.

"So, you're going to train him like a dog?"

"Mercy," Jonathan sighed, exasperated, "do we not mold infants and small children with a system of reward and punishment? If we are to be casual in our view of this situation one might say that I am raising Edward Nygma anew and as such must put in place the strict positive and negative reinforcements that any parent would have for their child. Follow?" For a silent moment Jervis's face registered no emotion, the little pink that graced his cheeks was long gone, along with the faint blue of his iris' that kept his eyes from appearing as dead, colorless orbs within his head.

"Let me make up a cup of tea for him," he finally blurted.

"No! Jervis, are you even listening to me?" Jonathan turned and grabbed the drinking glass kept by the sink, filling it to the brim from the faucet. "Here, this is all he needs." Hesitantly, Jervis took the water, water that had not been warmed over a fire and made flavorful with dragon fruit or lavender sage, and brought it as instructed to the spare room.

Try as he might Edward could not stop tormenting himself with the memories of his suite at the Gotham Towers. It pained him to imagine his large bed with its down comforter and tasseled pillows lying unused in the darkness as certainly there was no one there to give life to his meticulously acquired Tiffany lamps. His brand new radio phonograph, which never knew a silent moment when Edward was around, had been quiet for weeks now. On the shelves built around the phonograph, his beloved records, his Billie Holiday, Gershwin and Cole Porter were now just collecting dust in the black, music-less space that he had once called home.

In place of his creature comforts Edward was now forced to contend with cold linen sheets that stung his bare skin and flat pillows that filled his nostrils with the stale scent of must. Where there should have been songs there was the never ending rapping of rain on his walls. The only thing that kept Edward from going insane was the capricious nature of spring storms to shift from furious to gentle and the occasional rumble of thunder to rattle the glass sconces.

Instead of Harvey Dent trying to control his life he now had Professor Jonathan Crane.

Edward felt so pitifully foolish locked up in that tiny room in another man's sleepwear, realizing how easily he had allowed himself to become blinded with his own silly notions of love and romance, of ballroom dance floors and cocktails under a dazzling mirror ball. He remembered the night Harvey had found him, just a poor, young thing half-starved in the streets of Gotham and how the handsome DA lured him into the warmth the Joker's Wild with promises of food and drink and safety from the cruel outside world. Harvey had been so kind in those early days, almost tender in the way he treated Edward. The change came so subtly and once Edward realized what kind of man Harvey Dent truly was it was too late for escape.

From a distance Jonathan had seemed like the perfect counter; someone without airs, a person who, no matter how undesirable their flaws might be would actively flaunt them without apology. Jonathan was a mean spirited, grouchy old crumb bum. Edward had deluded himself with the belief that with a little beguiling he could draw out the kind, southern gentleman within Jonathan; that he could take the venom out of his voice and turn the corners of his thin lips into adoring smiles.

But even as he took on the opposite role that he had played with Harvey, acting now as the charmer to his prey, Edward found himself in the same position as before. Somehow he managed to get himself trapped, captive of a man he woefully misjudged.

"Mr. Nygama?" Three small taps came succulently upon his door, "Are you decent?"

"Who's askin'?"

"It's me, Jervis, Professor Crane's valet. If you are wanting it, I have a small bit of food here. Very, very small bit…" Edward had not eaten since a lukewarm bowl of mush and some dry toast had been offered to him earlier in the morning but at that moment he felt neither hungry nor satisfactorily full. Still, sitting up he gave permission Jervis to enter, mostly because it felt nice to have authority once more over his personal space.

"Tell me that's a glass of vodka," Edward almost pleaded at the sight of the water glass.

"I'm afraid not, just the modest luxury of tap water. I tried for a cup of tea but Jonathan, er, the professor, he wouldn't have any of that." It was obvious to Jervis that Jonathan was attempting to establish a more proper patient/doctor relationship with Edward and very much did not want any blame for disrupting that heaped upon him. "He has put some very strict rules for your care in place."

"I noticed," sighed Edward, "Jervis, is it all right if I call you that?"

"It is my name," Jervis shrugged, "but I suppose due to the unusual events of the last few days it has been a bit difficult for us to be properly introduced." Jervis set down the food tray and held out his hand, "Jervis Techt, doctor of neuroscience and personal valet to Professor Jonathan Crane." Edward met the gesture and they shook. "At your service."

"Edward Nygma, the best time you'll have in Gotham City!" He winked playfully, "Or at least, I used to be." Each party retracted their hand. "I guess you used to be a doctor?"

"Still am," said Jervis, slightly wounded, "I never lost the title, just the job. Of course, I suppose neither of those things means anything without the other."

"Jervis," Edward still seemed a bit hesitant over the use of the name, "can I ask you something?"

"I do not see the harm in it."

"Professor Crane, is he…is he mad?" Jervis chuckled.

"Oh, we're all mad here."

"Lewis Carroll," whispered Edward, "_Alice's Adventures In Wonderland._" He leaned his head against the wall behind him, a few loose hairs falling over his face, "Been a long time since I read that one."

"Are you the literary sort?" Jervis asked with a surprised rise in his eyebrows.

"I pretend to be. Some of my clients like that, they want to pillow talk with me about books or philosophy or whatever it is they fancy. In my line of work the mind can sometimes be more important than the body."

"I see," said Jervis, "in any case, I apologize for whatever it is the professor's done to make you worry. You mustn't take it to heart." Edward felt somewhat jealous of the man's clear innocence in regards to the demon that lived within his employer. Such knowledge could not be dismissed with a few kind words.

"An apology doesn't really answer my question. Do you think the professor is mad?" This second inquiry seemed to sadden Jervis, adding an unseen weight that caused his proud shoulders to bow. The valet lowered himself into the leather chair that Jonathan had previously occupied, seeming unable to fully support this new burden.

"Most people would say yes; yes, that he's a raving lunatic and they should have locked him away years ago. And at one time you might have been able to count me among that majority. You will learn though in time, just as I did, that the professor is not mad he's just…," Jervis closed his eyes as if a better answer laid within the darkness. There were no real words he knew of to describe Jonathan Crane…, "He's just Jonathan Crane," save those two. "Do you understand?" Oddly enough, Edward did. His professor was a unique creature, that had been one of the man's many draws. It seemed unfair now that he had compared Jonathan to someone like Harvey Dent. Harvey was no better than any of the other drunken, lust driven men that kept the doors of the Joker's Wild open. His suits were more expensive, his name more renowned but he was still as base as a jungle beast; an animal always on the prowl.

Still, there were a few lingering fears that would not rest.

"He won't hurt me, will he?" Jonathan had already struck him once and Edward had long since acknowledged and forgiven the act. A slap in the face he could handle, it was the gnawing concern in the back of his mind that Jonathan was capable of something more sinister. What that meant specifically he did not know but the worry was there just the same.

"No, of course not," Jervis was slow to answer, "just do whatever the professor ask, behave yourself and things will get better."

"I want things to get better," Edward said without knowing what it meant. All he knew for sure was he did not want to be trapped in that room, he did not want to be trapped in Arkham and he certainly did not want to return to the Joker's Wild to face a spurned Harvey Dent.

"Well, if you ever want to just talk to someone who isn't trying to pick your brain I'll always be around, here and there." Jervis smiled.

"Thank you, Jervis."

"You're very welcome, Edward." Jervis rose to his feet, "My my, it's getting late and those dishes won't wash themselves, so, I best be off. Good night."

"Night."

And then he was, once more, alone. Edward considered the meal slivers that had been brought to him but his mind was buzzing too loudly with new thoughts to make room for any messages of want that his stomach might be sending. Despite his darker nature Edward knew that the professor was a brilliant man, an educated man. If there was something within him that needed to be fixed Jonathan could fix it. The trick was he had to give himself wholly in a way he never truly had with another man; he had to trust Jonathan with his mind.

Edward did not like tricks. The idea that he could be deceived at any moment by some sleight of hand did not sit well. If he were to let Jonathan into his world than he would need to always be one step ahead.

Edward's green eyes flitted to the stacks of books before him.

He did have an awful lot of time to kill.

"Feeling more agreeable today?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Do you think we can complete a session without any fits or outburst or childish tantrums?"

"Yes, Professor." Jonathan felt a bit skeptical about the new and more compliant Edward Nygma. He had learned to never take anything the boy said for face value; there was always an ulterior motive in play.

"Then let's begin, shall we?" Jonathan shifted in his chair as he began to leaf through his notes. Over the last twenty-four hours he had been laboring over his plan of attack, setting up a series of question that he felt would be most effective in breaking down Edward's walls. "The other night when you were still a bit ill you made a request of me, do you remember what that was?"

"I asked you to read me a story," Edward's laid out form offered a shrug, "what about it?"

"What prompted you to make such a request?" Jonathan's eyes glanced down to where he was underlying the word 'mother' in his notes. "Had you become accustomed to such practices as a child? Would your mother read to you when you were ill?" To this Edward laughed.

"My mother couldn't read! She could barely write her own name!" Why anyone would laugh about something so tragic, especially concerning their own mother Jonathan could not say. Even more peculiar, this reaction was the exact opposite of how Edward had regarded his mother under the influence of _the Acacia Umbraticum_. In dreams the boy had seemed so needing of her, as if she were the only good in the world, now he spoke of the woman as if she were a joke. "I suppose," Edward attempted to compose himself, "when I was sick, she would sit and _tell _me some of the stories her dad had told her growing up in the old country."

"Were you often sick as a child?"

"No more than any other boy in the neighborhood."

"Did you find your mother to dote on you a bit more at those times?"

"Honestly, the only time she would even look at me was when I coughed or sneezed."

"Elaborate, please." Edward sighed and shifted in the bed.

"It's sort of involved but I guess this is the sorta stuff egg heads like you get a real kick out of, hm?" He shot Jonathan a sly smile. "My mother was one of thirteen children born to Irish Catholic immigrants. All her brothers and sisters have at least five kids themselves. I've got so many cousins there's a fair chance I may have met one of them on my knees and never even known it!"

"Edward…," Jonathan warned, "I'll have none of your perverse interjections."

"Fine, fine," Edward waved away the professors warning, "well, ask any good Catholic woman worth her salt what she was put on this earth for and she'll tell you; filling it to the brim with as many smelly, soggy, noisy, fussy, whiny little brats that she can! And my mother was no exception. Like her siblings she was determined to create an impressive brood of her own so she married my father at sixteen and got straight to work."

"And how many brothers and sisters do you have, Mr. Nygma?" Edward's right arm shot straight in the air, his fingers curled around to meet his thumb and make a clear 'O'.

"Not a one!" Edward proclaimed, "Professor, you are looking at the only success my parents had in procreation!" Jonathan felt somewhat relieved.

"This must have been very difficult though for your mother."

"The doctors told her to give it up after I was born," Edward sighed, "when I was five she had a pretty serious miscarriage, I remember the blood all over the front of her dress. My father wouldn't even sleep in the same bed with her after that because she _still _wanted to keep trying."

"Did any of this frighten you?"

"No," nothing in Edward's tone betrayed him. He truly seemed unaffected by it all, "My mother was just nuts, that's all I knew. I was only worth her time when I was sick because that meant she might lose me, lose her one trophy. That's all I was to that woman. She sat at my bedside telling those stupid stories to make herself less worried. Once I was well again it was back to her rosary." Edward made an annoyed grunt, "That's all I have to say about her, really."

"I suppose that shall do for now," Jonathan felt somewhat disappointed, he had such expectations in regards to Edward's relationship with his mother, but there were still many other issues to consider. "What about your father, what was his attitude toward you?"

"Pretty much the same; just instead of only noticing me when I was sick he only noticed me when I misbehaved. And by notice I mean a punch to the side of my head. Believe it or not Professor, I rarely ever acted out as a child."

_I'll be a good boy_!Jonathan felt a tightening in his chest. _No, no! I'll be good, please! _The words that had once belonged to Edward now echoed in his mind in the voice of his ten-year-old self…

"Professor?" Edward, propped up on his elbows, was looking anxiously at Jonathan.

"I," Jonathan pretended to flip through his notes with purpose, "yes, so, your father, he was a violent man?"

"My father was a factory worker," Edward dropped himself back on the bed, "worked eleven hour days. He would drink every night and come home tired and drunk and wanting nothing to do with his crazy wife and…," for a moment the animation of Edward fell away, his features became slack and the subtle rhythms of his bodily processed near impossible to detect. "When I was really young," Edward began quietly after some time, "I thought my dad knew everything in the world. So, I'd ask him, 'Hey pop, why is the sky blue? Why is the grass green?' And he'd just call me annoying and then hit me and say I was too damn stupid for my own good..."

"Edward…"

"But I wasn't!" Edward cried out, "I was the smartest kid in my class! Always had my hand raised, always had A's on my test! But I could never show them to my dad because that would have bothered him and then I'd have to wear a shiner to school for a week! Just for showing him how good I was!" Before Jonathan could react Edward leapt to his feet, a wry smile on his face as he shoved a pointed finger right at the doctor.

"You want to hear a story, Professor?"

"I do believe that I made it perfectly clear that I shall retain all control in these sessions!" Jonathan's voice though was all bark and no bite, it was clear that in one swift move Edward had taken the reigns.

"Oh trust me, you'll love this one! My hero growing up was Harry Houdini, I idolized the man, wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I followed his every act over the radio, the walls of my room were covered in paper clippings about him. When I was eight it was announced that Houdini would coming to Gotham City for a one night only performance. I don't think I wanted anything more in the world before or since then than to see the master live on stage. My school somehow got ahold of two tickets and they presented them as a prize to any student who could solve this tabletop puzzle."

"Seems fortunate for you," Jonathan said, unheard by Edward who seemed lost in his own memory.

"I knew I would be one of the faster students to solve it, but being in the top five was not good enough. I had to be the _best_. I had to solve it before anyone had a chance to blink if I wanted those tickets. So, I would sneak back into the school when we were all on break and practice putting the puzzle together. I even brought my dad's old pocket watch along to time myself. Got down to solving it in under a minute! You shoulda seen the look on their faces when I put that picture together in 45 seconds flat!"

"So, you won your prize?"

"Yes," the manic smile Edward had been sporting shifted to a scowl, "I brought the tickets home and I showed my dad. He called me a liar and a cheater and ripped up my tickets right in front of me."

"But you did cheat…"

"That's not the point!" Edward grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it into the wall. "Don't you understand? It was not enough for him to taunt me and beat me and make me feel worthless. No! He had to take the one thing that could have ever made me happy and he _destroyed_ it!" Edward looked away suddenly but Jonathan still caught the sparkle of tears in his eyes. "Houdini died a few years later. I cried the whole day long. When my father killed himself after the crash…all I did was laugh."

"Your father committed suicide?"

"It was quite vogue at the time, if you recall," Edward smiled, his eyes now wide and clear "he didn't do something as flashy as jumping out the window of a skyscraper. Hung himself in his closet, my mother found him. By that point I was pretty much living on the streets, a much preferable alternative to being trapped with those two."

"How did you find out?"

"My mother went out and found me. She was heading out with one of her sisters to California, an uncle of mine had gotten some work out there. I thought about going with her, seeing if I could make it into pictures but in the end I stayed. Don't really know why." Edward collapsed onto his tiny bed, "Anything else you want to know?"

"No," Jonathan said, folding up his notes, "you made excellent progress today Edward, far more than I had anticipated after yesterday's debacle." The boy hummed in some sort of dull agreement before lidding his eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I just…," Edward sighed, "I haven't thought about any of this in years. I know it sounds crazy but it's like I almost forgot I even had parents."

"From what you have told me so far that's fairly understandable."

"I'm tired," Edward said softly, "I think I might take a nap."

"I shall take my leave," but Jonathan did not want to go. He could not explain it, an urge within him to stay at Edward's side. The boy seemed so fragile in that moment, it seemed almost cruel to leave him alone. It made sense to Jonathan to stay and see that Edward got safely to dreams, perhaps, maybe, even sing to him to slumber once more. "Sleep well," but he could not do that. The first time had been a mistake and Jonathan Crane was not in the habit of making the same mistake twice.


	16. Stormy Weather

I just want to say thank you again for everyone who keeps reading/reviewing, it's nice to know that there is (still) love for this fic.

Also, I am not only interested in positive reviews. If there's anything you dislike in terms of the story or characterization please feel free to tell me so, especially now that I'm beginning the 'slash' part of 'Jon/Eddie'. I'll admit right now there will probably be some OOC moments but I'm hoping to keep it in check as to not ruin the momentum we've got going here.

_April, 6__th__ 1936 _

_ It's been almost three weeks since I began my study of Edward Nygma. Though I consider the project so far to be a success there is still so much more ground needing to be covered. Within the first three days we completed most of the necessary discussion on his parents (see pages 1-12 in the session logs). Edward was quick to share all and any explicit details of his father's physical abuse. He seemed to find great joy in vilifying the man as much as possible and, in turn, making himself out to be the innocent victim. As for his mother Edward holds a view of great indifference for the woman. What little he had to share I felt I had to wrench from him. _

_ After that I documented his interactions with acquaintances, bullies, teachers, etc. (see pages 13-26 in the session logs). In these he relates an overwhelming sense of feeling invisible. Several times he mentioned what a proficient student he was, a claim I do not deny as Edward has on more than one occasion displayed his intelligence, yet he feels all too often his talents were overlooked. Edward shared with me great frustration over one teacher who continually called him 'Freddie' no matter how many times he corrected her. _

_ The session logs thus far paint a portrait of a genius born into a situation not at all interested in his existence. Tragic as it is I have encountered quite a few patients like Edward, most growing into introverts, suffering from poor body image and lacking in any sort of self- esteem. Edward Nygma though is clearly the opposite. He is loud, brash, narcissistic and possesses an almost a dangerous level of egotism. He is quite the enigma…_

Jonathan let out a sigh after he realized what he written.

"Enigma," he whispered to the long shadows of his empty bedroom. The boy was aptly named.

_It is time I begin to understand what factor triggered this abnormal manifestation within Edward. I cannot say for certain he is ready but if past sessions are in any indicator I should at the very least be able to lay the groundwork for some meaningful revelations. If not, I still have two full size dosages of the Acacia Umbraticum is my supplies._

Jonathan tapped his pen on his chin as he read over the last line. His ethics were no doubt going to be called into question at some point as Edward never agreed to the experimental treatment, it might be best to have all glib comments about the use of illegally manufactured narcotics edited out.

The grandfather clock struck one and Jonathan was overtaken by a great yawn that forced his arms upward then dropped them lifeless to his sides. Editing shall come later, he thought, judgment day was still many months away.

There was no fire in hearth, April had shooed away the storms brought with her long, balmy nights filled with the soft chattering of insects in the alley way. Jonathan would always strain for their hushed conversations as he slipped his linen sleep shirt over his head. The sound took him back to one of the few good memories of his home, of his youth.

Alma really only had two seasons; summer and winter, each as unrelenting and cruel as the other. Jonathan cringed as he thought of the barren August trees that would loom over him as he toiled without purpose in the fields, never offering the slightest bit of comfort, just serving as a host for the crows that would come to caw him a birthday cheer.

Fall was only ever noted in the pungent scent of burn piles from the neighboring farms.

Spring lasted but a moment, blink and one ran the risk of missing it. There would be color in the blooming wildflowers on the fringe of the Keeny property and in the feathers of the cardinals, sparrows and song birds that would come and replace the hated crows.

Spring brought the Easter holiday which always put Great-Gran in a more lenient mood. Often she would turn a blind eye to Jonathan skipping out on his chores to go for a swim in the creek or find a tall tree to climb and hide in with a good book. Every night he would fall to bed exhausted, not from long, fruitless hours tending the crops but because for one beautiful moment he was a _boy._ And as Jonathan would then drift away, the cool breeze from the open window rushing over his body he would hear it…the sweet lullaby of the cicadas and crickets, the promise of an endless spring always in their song.

Jonathan now laid himself down on top of the cool fabric of his duvet, enjoying the feeling of being able to fully stretch out his legs as the pleasant change in the weather had freed him from arthritic pain. His eyes glanced around the space he knew to be empty but Jonathan had learned as a boy that secrets were precious things that must be guarded at all cost. Especially those of the bookish variety…

_Girls and boys come out to play,__  
__The moon doth shine as bright as day:__  
__Come with a hoop, come with a call,__  
__Come with a good will, or not at all:__  
__Leave your supper and leave your sleep,__  
__Come to your playfellows in the street:__  
__Up the ladder and down the wall,__  
__A penny loaf will serve us all._

Jonathan carefully looked over the illustration that spanned over two pages: a parade of smiling, cherry cheeked children with their arms full of fantastic looking toys. Off for adventure, off to climb trees and splash in rushing creeks with all their playfellows. Off to scare the lonesome red head out from the water and taunt him and tease him as he runs past, half naked and sopping wet.

Jonathan closed the misappropriated book of rhymes and slipped it back under his bed. Even his happier memories were bittersweet at best. Those warm spring afternoons might have been better had he had his own playfellow. In their sessions Edward mentioned never having any real friends as a child. People would pass in and out of his life with false smiles and empty salutations but no one ever made themselves permanent.

Perhaps it was just the lateness of the hour and the grogginess of his mind but Jonathan felt it safe to explore the notion of what his life would have been like had Edward Nygma been his friend growing up. They certainly would have competed for grades, both their hands shooting to the heavens at every question asked but when school let out and the bullies came after them with tightly balled fist no doubt the two would have valiantly fought back as a team. In the spring they would hunt for adventure all across the open Georgian country; collecting rocks and bugs, exploring caves and maybe even building a fort up in their favorite tree. Edward would share his small magic tricks and Jonathan in turn would show his friend his latest experiments. Under the dusty lavender of the twilight skies they would lie side by side in the tall grass and watch fireflies dance between the stationary stars, laughing at the calls of their respective guardians to come home for dinner.

Against his will Jonathan's lids began to flutter. From the corners of his eyes he detected the faint movement of something cool and wet making tracks to his pillow. In his mind Jonathan damned Jervis, the man clearly had not been keeping up with his dusting; the room must be covered in filth! It was clearly the only explanation for his watery eyes. He would have to scold Jervis in the morning…in the morning…damn his old age…

Sleep gently pulled Jonathan's mind away, like the receding tide water, down through to his fingers and toes, leaving him completely hollow. Then there was nothing, all fantasies of childhood melted at the sight of the sun over the horizon. It had all just been a silly dream.

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The next morning, Jonathan walked into the sound of grease sizzling on the skillet and the smell of pork fat filling his kitchen. The small room was hot, almost muggy but it was an unpleasantness Jonathan was slowly finding familiarity with. Since Edward had decided to comply with his therapy Jonathan had given him the privilege to decide what he would like to eat for each meal and because Jonathan not been testing any of his drugs he was now waking up alert, able to dress and groom himself and enjoy his black tea at the kitchenette as opposed to wrapped up half dazed in his bedding.

He was learning to enjoy the change.

Edward was completely occupied, as he always was, with the puzzles that arrived with the morning paper. Jervis was slaving away at the stove, sans his jackets and vest, with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up past the elbow. Both seemed so content, so at ease with the strange sense of domesticity that had slowly seeped into the daily practices of apartment one.

"Are you almost done frying up that filth?" Jonathan asked, pulling up a seat at the kitchenette, "I wish to have a cup of black tea before I leave for classes."

"Morning Professor," Jervis said dryly, "did you sleep well?"

"Well enough," Jonathan spat back before turning to his ward. Another small freedom Edward had earned himself was proper clothing. It went without saying that showy suits were out of the question. Jervis had instead been sent out to purchase modest (and affordable) wear which found Edward on that morning shoeless in a pair of argyle socks and tweed plus fours with a faded navy sweater vest over the white dress shirt which the GCPD had initially delivered him in. Edward's black hair had become noticeably longer, falling over his face as he worked.

"Such a waste of time," Jonathan snorted. Edward's eyes broke away from the paper.

"Excuse me?"

"Those silly little puzzles of yours. Really, when has solving A for Z or connecting this dot to the next done anything to better your life? Every morning since I've allowed you to come eat with us all you do is sit there and spend your intelligence on that worthless nonsense! I cannot fathom why you bother with them at all when there so many more enriching activities you could be enjoying." It crossed Edward's mind for a moment to tell Jonathan what he had been doing each night after all the other occupants of apartment one drifted off to sleep, that he had been diving deeply into the psychology books that the professor had left without concern stack beside his chair. By that point Edward had read though them all at least once and was now sifting through the selected tomes that he felt might help him better understand the mind of the man who was trying to understand his.

"Because I like them."

But where was the fun in that?

"Insufferable child…"

"Boring old crumb bum."

"All right, enough of that!" Jervis chided as he approached the kitchenette with full hands. "Now, we have tea here for the professor," he held out a steaming cup for Jonathan to take, "and a special request here for Mr. Nygma!" Jervis slid what Jonathan was certain was the most nauseating pile of slop masquerading as food he had ever laid eyes on. Burnt toast piled with runny egg yolks that cascaded down the side into some fried potato heap topped with butter and cheese. Haphazardly tossed around the plate were strips of bacon, sausage links and what Jonathan surmised were capers.

"Jervis, this looks perfect!" Edward clapped his hands in excitement. Jonathan rolled his eyes.

"Professor, would you like me to make you a plate?"

"Nothing there is fit for human consumption. In fact," Jonathan reached over and pulled the plate out from beneath Edward's nose, "I feel it is my duty as a doctor sworn to the Hippocratic Oath to forbid you from having this!"

"No dice!" Cried Edward, snatching it back, "You said last week that I was free to choose what I want to eat and _this _is what I want!"

"Then clearly you should no longer be in charge of making decisions about your own life!"

"Well, clearly you shouldn't be in charge of picking your own clothes," Edward said, shoveling a large, dripping slice of toast into his mouth, "dey make shoo loop lipe uh scar-crew." With each syllable large chucks of half-chewed food were spat onto Jonathan's face. Managing to maintain a smile as he masticated, Edward then turned back toward Jervis, "Jervish, ish dish-licious!"

"I'm, er, glad you like it?"

"Jomatham, her," Jonathan, who had been wiping his face clean with a napkin looked up to find Edward's fork piled high with potatoes being shoved toward him. "Come un, yoo know yoo wanna!"

"Get that garbage out of my face!" Jonathan kicked back in a panic, hitting his head on the kitchen wall. "Damnation!"

"Just one bite," Edward cooed, now having fully swallowed the mouthful, "what's the worst that could happen?" To Jonathan's horror, the normally fastidious Edward had gotten his face covered in the goopy egg yolk, most of it quickly running down his chin and threatening to drip all over the table.

"For starters I could end up looking like a disgusting, ill-mannered brat like you!" Jonathan shot forward suddenly, his napkin still in hand and began to vigorously rub it all over Edward's face. "Mercy child, who taught you how to eat?"

"Hey! Whaddaya-?" Edward tried to fight the professor off but to no avail; Jonathan was far too determined to get the boy clean. "Stop it!"

"I ought to banish you back to the servant's quarters until you learn how to behave yourself like a civilized human being! There!" Jonathan pulled his hand back, "Much better." For a moment the two just looked at one another, deeply heaving from their efforts, eyes wide and wary and impossible to read. Jervis just stood stunned against the counter, waiting silently for either Edward or Jonathan to make the next move.

Slowly, simultaneously, a shared smile crept over their faces. A tiny smile, certainly, barely visible in the pale morning light but Jervis noted them just the same. As hard as it was for him to conceive the idea there was simply no denying it: he had become witness to a moment of playfulness between the doctor and his patient. What would have been one of their commonplace (and miserably petty) spats had turned into almost a sort of game, one from which they clearly derived equal amusement.

"Don't cha have a class of bored little rich kids you ought to be babysitting?" Edward said abruptly, turning back to his breakfast.

"You just want to be rid of me," said Jonathan, "just as I wish to be rid of you." He drank his entire mug of tea and, without bidding a farewell, went to gather his coat and hat and make his way to the train.

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The day went on for Jonathan its usual, miserable fashion. His last and unfortunately largest class ran late due to too many redundant questions which put Jonathan already a half hour behind for his daily appointment with Edward. Once the lecture hall was fully vacated Jonathan made quick work of his papers and notes, throwing them into his attaché case with a sort of organized chaos so he might not miss the last train and be forced to pay the ridiculous fare for a cab ride home.

"P-professor?" A soft, almost inaudible voice inquired. Jonathan heaved a great sigh, shifting his eyes toward the door as he prepared to verbally ream whichever of his students had dare to come and waste more of his time.

"The bell ran fifteen minutes ago and-," Jonathan felt himself become warm in humiliation. "Oh, Miss Harleen, I apologize. I did not realize it was you." The fair girl did not even look like herself. Her hair was down and lying flat, tucked sharply behind her ears. A simple calico dress covered her completely from neck to knees, from shoulder to elbow with only a modest bow tied at the waist to give it any interest. Not an ounce of powder on her cheeks or thick lines to detail her wide blue eyes. "Goodness child, is everything all right?"

"I-I don't know," she responded in the same quiet tone, "somethin' strange happened yesterday 'n'…I really need to talk to ya."

"Come here," Jonathan coaxed the girl over to his desk, pulling up a chair beside his own, "have a seat, take a deep breath and tell me what is weighing on you." Harleen did as she was told, using the same breathing techniques that Jonathan had taught Edward until she was calm enough to steady her voice.

"Yesterday, I'm workin' the shop. Nothing too crazy though we been pretty busy with it bein' spring and all our best buds are already bloomin'. Then, outta nowhere, I feel this tap on my shoulder. So I turn around and standin' there was Harvey Dent, ya know, that famous lawyer guy!" Jonathan felt himself become weightless at the name, falling back into the questionable safety of his aluminum office chair.

"What did he say to you?"

"He had some questions, said he was lookin' to get somethin' to bring home to his fiancé. I was showin' him the early Glenn Dale azaleas and then," she squinted her eyes almost suspiciously, "he started askin' me all these things about ya."

"What sort of things?"

"It was just real general sorta stuff like where you were from, how long ya'd been here in the city, how you and I met but, the whole time, he was givin' me the real heebie jeebies. Before he left, he told me to be sure to tell ya that he hopes everything is goin' well. What did he mean? Are you in some sorta trouble?"

"No," Jonathan assured her, "not me. I suppose I ought to come clean with you, Miss Quinn." Though he hated lying to Harleen, Jonathan chose to relate to her the tale he spun for Judge Wayne: Edward was a wayward sexual deviant looking for guidance, that the good doctor took it upon himself to council the boy but of course Edward managed to get himself arrested and in order to save him from Arkham Jonathan accepted the judge's proposition to become Edward's keeper.

"No offense Professor, but that seems kinda far-fetched."

"It is a bit of a stretch of the imagination, I know, but it is the unfortunate truth of my life. Harleen, I am going to tell you something now you cannot repeat to anyone else, you understand?" The girl nodded and smiled.

"Professor," that was all she needed to say.

"Harvey Dent is not what he seems. He may act as some beacon of justice but the truth is he is as low as the men he tries. Are you familiar with the Joker's Wild gentleman's club and what occurs there?"

"I've heard some things," said Harley, "but I ain't never been there, not once!" She quickly added.

"Good girl," Jonathan petted her hand, "Well, according to Edward it's a common haunt for Mr. Dent and he takes full advantage of all the services offered there…with Edward himself being the man's favorite."

"Wait a minute, are you tryin' to tell me that Harvey Dent is a Nance?" Jonathan nodded. "But he's got a fiancé and everything! There ain't no way!"

"Harleen, you know as well as I do how easy it is for a person to lead a double life."

"I guess. Geeze Louise, so Dent likes this Edward guy?"

"I suppose 'favorite' would be an understatement if I were to describe how Mr. Dent feels about Edward; the man is completely obsessed with him. The whole trial that I had unwittingly made myself a major facet in was in fact a trap for Dent to capture Edward and remove him from the club so he might have the boy to himself. He's furious that I emasculated him in front of his friend Judge Wayne and stole his little toy." Jonathan heaved a great sigh when he began to realize what sort of man he was dealing with. It was the kind he was unfortunately all too familiar with, even in old age. "Harvey Dent is nothing more than an overgrown bully."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Dent likes to push around those he deems as weaker than himself to bolster this alter ego of his. He wants people to believe that he poses an incredible amount of power, that he wields control over every aspect of his life when in reality he is a pathetic little man who is easily bent by the simple vices of society."

"Most everyone who comes into my shop knows how I feel about ya," Harleen slowly began, "Dent knew if he came snoopin' 'round the Pretty Poison word would get back to you. He _wanted _you to know that he was there, that he was thinkin' about cha."

"To him I'm just some feeble, foolish old man who can barely keep himself upright on a cane. He honestly believes that I am someone to be easily intimidated by his bravado."

"I still don't understand why he'd wanna intimidate you over this Edward character though. Like ya said, ya didn't know what you were gettin' into when ya went to that trial."

"It's not so much he wants to intimidate me over Edward but rather what Edward might tell me. Dent has a lot of secrets and Edward's shared nearly all of them with me. That might be why he mentioned his fiancé to you, as a warning that he's keeping an eye on me so I damn well better keep my mouth shut. He knows Edward is angry and might use me as a venue to get back at him."

"_Are_ you gonna say somethin', Professor?"

"For what purpose? As unpleasant as I find people like Harvey Dent I do not have a vendetta against him. In time, his own actions shall be his ruin. Besides, as much as I trust my source on the subject, the words of a wronged young prostitute will not go far in a court of law." Harleen sighed.

"Guess I came down here today for nothin'."

"Do you feel more at ease?" Hesitantly, the girl nodded. "Then it was not an afternoon wasted. Now," Jonathan pecked her on the cheek, "you head home, find some little thing to busy yourself with and forget about all this nonsense." Filled once more with her unquestionable manic energy, Harleen bound towards the lecture hall door. Before passing fully she turn, looking at him in the same unbelieving way, that he had accepted her as a mind worth cultivating and not some foolish girl looking for a man to care for her.

"I know what happened at that trial wasn't anything you planned but," she said, looking away, "for what it's worth, you're a real good guy for helpin' that kid out. Most people wouldn't have done that. I feel lucky sometimes that I get to know the real you," she flashed a small smile, "the sweet you. Sometimes I think even you forget that yer human."

"Thank you, Harleen." Jonathan did not know what else to say.

"I'll see ya 'round."

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"So, Edward, tell me about Harvey Dent."


	17. Thanks For The Memory

"Sure, whaddaya wanna know?"

"What's the first thought that comes into your head when I mention his name?"

"That I never want to see him again," Edward laughed. Today he had decided to answer Jonathan's questions lying with his feet at the head of his bed, propped up on his few pillows and his neck bent over the foot. His fingers succinctly drumming on his chest. "Why do you want to talk about him?"

"You mentioned your first night here that he was the one who introduced you into the world of sex solicitation. His role in your arrest and subsequent trial aside, he obviously played a huge part as to why you are here."

"Harvey had his part, make no mistake, but my far-from perfect living accommodations had a hand as well." That response Jonathan had not been anticipating. It took his mind some time, as sharp as it was, to decode the message Edward was trying to send him.

"You mentioned before having spent some time living on the streets. Were you still homeless at the time of your introduction to Mr. Dent?"

"When I met Harvey I had been on the streets for three years."

"Tell me about that."

"To be honest, it wasn't so bad. Not in the beginning anyway."

"But things always have a way of changing?" Edward nodded.

"The few odd jobs I could pick up here and there began to dry up. I had worked a good long while for some uptown office running deliveries but eventually they closed shop. Some of the other down and out guys, the sorta friends I'd made, did like my mom did and made tracks out to California. Some of them," Edward's voice became low, as if he did not want Jonathan to hear, "…they just disappeared."

"What do you mean they just disappeared?" The weight of the tiny room seemed to grow with each passing moment of silence. Jonathan could feel it; on his shoulders, his legs, on his hands neatly clasped over his notebook. For the first time in three weeks Jonathan felt he had entered a part of Edward's mind where a thick layer of dark dust had settled without the intention of ever being disturbed.

"They'd kill you for a pair of shoes out there…every other day they'd find some sad schumck belly up in the bay or decapitated in the train yards, no shoes on their feet."

"Did you fear for your life during this time?"

"There wasn't any food or clothing or decent shelter. And the numbers of needy, crazy people just kept growing and growing." Edward drew a deep breath. "I was the most afraid I had ever been in my life. I cried myself to sleep every night, just praying if someone did kill me they'd make it quick."

"Is that what you wanted? For someone to take your life in your sleep?"

"Better than slowly dying from the hunger or cold I guess." Edward suddenly sat up. "I'm sorry, you wanted to know about Harvey Dent." Jonathan had completely forgotten that he had asked about the horrible man.

"We do not have to talk about him, not just yet anyway."

"I'd rather not talk about those three years. I used to have the most awful nightmares about them, I'm afraid if we keep going they'll start again…" Jonathan's eyes went wide at the word; nightmares. Real ones, not chemically induced variety, brought on by the mere mention of a traumatic past. With fiendish delight Jonathan made a quick note of his thoughtless revelation, no doubt the key to his research was hidden within those three horrific years, all he had to do was find it.

But not now, we must not seem too eager. Good things come to those who wait.

"That's fine Edward, if you prefer you may tell me of your first encounter with Mr. Dent."

"Well, lemme see," Edward began, turning himself around on the bed so his head and feet were in their proper, designated places, "I was living, so to speak, in one of the camps off of 22nd street, just a block away from Crime Alley. It was just us bums and crooks, not even the coppers would bother coming down our way. But one night, while I was trying to get a little sleep I heard this voice, this whispery but commanding voice above me." Clouds slowly moved over the sun, the tiny room was filled with gray daytime shadows. "I'll never forget the first time I heard Harvey Dent's voice."

"What did he say to you?"

"Now that part I forgot!" Edward laughed a little at himself, "I remember though looking up and seeing Harvey's strange but handsome face for the first time. I couldn't stop staring; even when I realized what I was doing I couldn't stop. I felt awful, but all Harvey did was reach down and pull me up from the trash. He was wearing this gorgeous double breasted suit, brand new, freshly pressed and clean. I was wearing the same filthy rags I'd been sporting for the last two weeks. It was embarrassing and I told him so. He just smiled and asked me if I wanted to go with him to someplace warm and have a drink." Edward smiled. "I said yes."

"I'm guessing this place was the Joker's Wild?"

"I'd heard some pretty bad rumors around the camp about that place but in that moment I didn't care. Harvey had his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. He was so damn strong, it made me feel so safe. The way he looked at me," for moment Edward hesitated, "…I knew he'd never let anyone hurt me again."

"Like who?" Jonathan tried to sound as casual as he could. "Your father was dead, who else could hurt you?"

"I don't know," Edward said quickly, "that's just how I felt. Whatever problem you had Harvey could make it go away."

"I see," a few more words for Jonathan's notes. There was someone else, someone that might have scared Edward more than Dent. "What happened next?"

"That first night we mostly just talked. Nothing exciting, just two people getting to know each other. After so many drinks I got tired and Harvey offered to let me stay in his private room. For whatever reason, even with everything I knew I agreed to go with him."

"And this is when he propositioned you for sex?"

"No," Edward turned his head at this, seeming surprised and a little bit irritated at Jonathan's boldness. "We slept. In the morning he took me to a little café uptown and bought me breakfast. I told him again I felt stupid in my ratty clothes so afterwards he took me to Schumacher's and told me I could have anything I want. Wanna know what I bought first?" All of Edward squirmed with anticipation of Jonathan's answer.

"I assume that silly bowler of yours."

"They had an amazing display right in the front of the store. I strolled right in and picked my favorite one. Didn't even look at the price tag," a proud smile wrinkled Edward's face.

"So Mr. Dent is also responsible for your ridiculous taste in dress?"

"No, he just encouraged it. Harvey practically begged me to spend his money."

"And you did understand that you would, one way or another, have to pay him back?"

"Sayin' maybe I should have checked the tag?" Edward raised a playful eyebrow but his tone was anything but. "You wouldn't be judging me if you knew what I had been through."

"I am not judging you, Edward."

"You are so!" Edward snapped back. "I can tell just by the way you're looking at me!"

"I am merely looking at you."

"You think you know everything just because all of your fancy books and your fancy school, but you don't know what it means to suffer. You don't know what it's like to be cold and hungry and to cry all the time because there's something else you can do. So what, I'm a whore! I did what I did to survive and I'm not ashamed of it!"

"There is no shame in surviving," Jonathan quietly assured. More than that though he wanted to take the boy by the shoulders and tell him, '_Yes, I know these things. I have been too hot, too cold, thirsty and hungry and frightful of what each day may bring. I have done things, things I am not proud of to secure my escape from Alma._' But it would not be right, not now anyway.

"It was that night," Edward continued his story, "after we had come back from shopping and dinner when Harvey told me what he expected. Sorta explained it like it was some kind of business deal: he gave me something now I have to give it back, so to speak. He wasn't forceful about it, didn't hold me down or tear my clothes off or anything like that. It just happened."

"And how did you feel afterwards?"

"Honestly?" Edward considered the question. "Relived."

"Relieved?"

"Relieved I could do it. That I didn't have to go back to the streets. Don't get me wrong," he smiled, "there wasn't much to enjoy that first time, but it was something I knew I could do again, especially if there was money involved." Edward's eyes shifted warily towards Jonathan.

"I am still not judging you." The doctor assured with a sigh.

"I know." Edward sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so he and Jonathan were facing each other directly. "I have a confession to make."

"Shall I call a priest?"

"I think I'm beyond the help of a holy man," Edward said a tad too seriously, "it's a confession to you, Professor. I've been reading your books, the one's you've left behind. You didn't leave me with much else to occupy my time in here and I was a bit curious about what they had to say about someone like me." Had the last few weeks of tearing Edward Nygma down had not ever occurred Jonathan would have laughed at the boy. An uneducated prostitute whose only mental achievements came in the form of cheap word puzzles and games, how could he possibly understand the intricacies of the human mind? But he knew this boy better now, he knew of the dangerous intelligence he possessed and how, if he so chose, could employ it masterfully to his own gain.

Jonathan thought of his first encounter with his mentor Pigeon how the man carelessly dismissed him as just loitering fool with no ability to understand anything that was not forced fed to him. The pain that moment caused was a pain he knew Edward had suffered as well. That the two bore similar scars on their souls from those who chose ignore and belittle them. Though Jonathan could not say if he truly respected Edward as an equal, he respected him enough as an untapped genius to allow him his curiosities.

"And what did they say?"

"I only found a few reports about humans and sex, all by this guy named Sigmund Frood."

"It's pronounced Freud," Jonathan corrected, "if you chose to expand your research in the future you'll find most modern studies on human sexuality come from Austria or Germany. We Americans are a bit behind in that area of study."

"He seems pretty smart; all that psychosexual stuff, it makes a lot of sense. I must have read that report a thousand times. But something tells me you don't really believe in Freud's theories." Jonathan shrugged.

"I believe Freud to be a brilliant man in terms of his studies in psychodynamics, but you must understand Edward human sexuality is not my area of expertise. I cannot comment of Freud's findings in that area."

"Your area of expertise is in fear." Edward said plainly.

"You gleaned this from your studies?" Edward nodded.

"Plus the fact you talk about fear all the time. You're always asking me about things that scare me like Arkham. Even today you questioned about being afraid when I was homeless. Why is that?"

"I believe that fear is a serious determining factor for most of the decisions we make in our lives. I am trying to pin point your exact fears in order to reprogram your thinking."

"Not everyone would have gone with Harvey that night. They were all as scared as I was but I was the one he picked. How do you explain that?" Jonathan became quiet, not thoughtful, but quiet. He took time to remove his glasses, wipe them with the old handkerchief he always carried in his back pocket; an intriguing accessory, Edward noted, as the stitched monogram was clearly 'WP'.

"It's too early for me to determine the exact cause of your behavior," Jonathan then said suddenly, "but if I were forced to go before Judge Wayne tomorrow I would tell him you have a sense of self-preservation and supersedes most. You are the most important person to you." Jonathan did not know where his next thought came from. It was not anything he had ever considered but in that moment of its conception he felt the answer to be essential. "Edward, if I had told you that first night that all you had to do for a clean bill of mental health was to submit to me as you had for Harvey Dent, what would you have done?" Edward did not skip a beat.

"I would have done anything you asked."

"Because?"

"I didn't want to go to Arkham."

"Because?"

"Because I was afraid." Edward's shoulders slumped. "You were right about Harvey, too."

"What about him?"

"He scares me."

"What about him scares you?"

"It's strange…all I ever wanted as a kid was for someone to just notice me, hold me, tell me I was a good boy. Now I have some psycho who's so obsessed with me he thinks he's completely within his right to abuse our legal system to blackmail me into his bed." Edward, for whatever reason Jonathan could not understand, laughed. "I wanted to be loved, but not like that."

Jonathan closed his notebook.

"Edward, would it be all right with you if we ended here today?"

"I guess. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine, I assure you. I just need some time to go over my notes here. I have a few new ideas I would like to brainstorm on." Edward shrugged.

"Storm away then."

"And Edward?"

"Hm?"

"Do not feel like it's a sin to read my books or ask me any questions you might have. You seem to forget Edward that I am a professor and as such it is in my duty to aid anyone wanting to expand their mind."

"Yes, Professor."

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The sight of a full pitcher of amber tea sitting on the open window ledge greeted Jonathan as he entered the kitchen as well as the scent of fresh cut limes.

"You're brewing sun tea now?" Jervis peeked his head out from where it had been buried inside the Frigidaire.

"I figured a little variety ought to be nice." Jervis did not hear specifically what Jonathan muttered under his breath as he pulled up a seat at the kitchenette. Something about Yankees and not knowing what a porch was for and who puts lime in tea. "How was your session with Edward?"

"When do you next plan to go to the Ganymede Club?"

"I beg pardon?" Jervis was certain he misheard.

"I need you to talk to Mr. Pennyworth and report back to me about when and where Judge Wayne and Mr. Dent spend time together."

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"Do you honestly think you can secure a table at The Bistro On The Grass?" Jonathan shot Jervis a warning glare. "No offense."

"I'm a university professor…with tenure!" Jonathan quickly added.

"But The Bistro caters more to the more social elite. I'm not saying it's impossible, just," Jervis hemmed a bit.

"It shall just be me and Edward, I do not anticipate much trouble. Speaking of which," Jonathan crossed his bedroom to his desk and began digging through the drawers. "The boy is going to need some new clothes for the event. He seems quite fond of Schumacher's, perhaps you ought to take him down there this afternoon."

"Now, professor, really, isn't Schumacher's just a bit pricy for-"

"Here we are," Jonathan removed a small metal lock box from his desk, "what do you think shall be sufficient? Seventy-five? Eighty-five? Ah, let us make it a clean hundred." One by one Jonathan removed ten crisp ten dollar bills and brought them to Jervis. "Now, I will not have my money wasted on some silly, garish, brightly colored fashion statement. He needs to look sensible, respectful and, above all things, _sane_."

"Jonathan, this is your savings box, you only have a few thousand," Jervis protested, "I know it is not my place to inquire but I'm becoming concerned: what is it you have planned for this evening? Why are you and Edward stalking Judge Wayne and Mr. Dent?"

"Firstly, Edward does not know about this evening and I request you keep it a secret from him. If he ask about the new clothes tell him it's just another reward for his continuing cooperative behavior. Understood?"

"That's fine. So, I'm to assume then this surprise encounter is part of his therapy?" For this Jonathan gave a light chuckle.

"Jervis, what is the best course of action for one to overcome their fear?"

"I believe it is for that person to meet their fear face to face."

"Exactly!" Cried Jonathan. "It is important to make that thing or place or," another laugh, "person they fear as impotent as possible! Edward expressed a fear of Mr. Dent, of his power. If we surprise the D.A. in a place he considers familiar and safe he will be caught off guard. He will feel intimidated by our presence!" Jervis heaved a great sigh.

"Just promise me there will be no drugs involved and I'll ask no more questions."

"I do not need them! While aiding my young patient on his road to recovery," Jonathan turned darkly towards his bedroom window, "I shall also be giving our dear Mr. Dent a very large dose of his own medicine."

"…That's still a bit vague…"

"No, Jervis, there will be no drugs!"


End file.
